


Her Shocking Fate

by RainReina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainReina/pseuds/RainReina
Summary: Hermione has her future all planned out. She's just accepted the post of Charms professor at Hogwarts. She and Ron are practically engaged. But when she offends the wrong Seer, she is cursed to see her future in the most shocking way. Can she keep her plans from unraveling? What is the alternative? Breaking the curse might be as hard as accepting... Her Shocking Fate.





	1. Chapter 1

Diagon Alley was spinning. Lamplight flickered off the cobblestones which rippled beneath her feet in ceaseless waves, lurching her this way and that. The windows in the buildings were dark and laughter ricocheted down the empty street. The whole place seemed smaller without the throngs of people bustling about. Like a stage version of the real place. 

 

“To Professor Granger!” Ronald’s voice echoed in her ears. The words only hit her in retrospect and she laughed belatedly as Ron swung his arm around her shoulders. 

 

Harry followed on the other side. “The best fr-ucking Charms perfessor Hogwarts ever saw!” 

 

“Don’t say that in front erv Filius!” Hermione giggled. 

 

“Oooo Filius!” laughed Ginny, dancing out in front of the trio and walking backwards, her arms up in the air. “Your pal, Filiurs! You’re ditching us fer yer new friends Minerva and Pomoner and… and Severerus! HAHAHA!” 

 

They stumbled along, hindering each other more than they were helping, Hermione bowing beneath the weight of the two boys. She laughed until she fell into hysterics; her sides aching; unable to breathe. 

 

“Guys!” Ginny was shouting. Hermione had the vague impression the girl was jumping up and down. Then small hands were on her shoulders, a blur of red in her face. The cobblestones were hard beneath her arse and the impact only made the girls laugh louder. “Come on, come on,” Ginny was saying as she pulled on Hermione’s hands, trying to help her to her feet. Firm hands appeared beneath her arms, lifting her bodily into the air. Hermione leaned back against Ron’s broad, warm, comfortable chest and sighed. 

 

“Come onnnnnn!” Ginny whined, stomping back over to them. “Look!” 

 

“Oh! Yeah!” said Harry. 

 

Hermione wasn’t paying attention to them. All she cared about was the feel of Ron’s hand in hers and the way his face had turned bright red with too much Ogden’s Old. They followed their friends through an open doorway, beneath a purple lamp. 

 

It was dark and smoky inside and the heavy scent of incense filled their lungs. Harry and Ginny were up at the counter, talking to a woman in veils and eyeliner to shame Trelawney, and a grin which verged on manic, her crooked teeth bared. 

 

“You won’t forget me?” said Ron, pulling on Hermione’s hands until she was pressed against him, staring into his pale blue eyes. All four of them. With their faintly red, unfocused bleariness. 

 

“Course not, Ron,” she whispered, “‘cause you’re gonna visit me allther time!” 

 

“Guys!” Ginny squealed, grabbing their hands. “We’re going to see our futures!” 

 

Hermione looked past her at the woman behind the counter, with her templed hands and greedy eyes. She scoffed. “ _ Divination? _ Really, Gin, you  _ can’t _ be seriours.” 

 

The woman’s grin dropped into a scowl of intense dislike. “You doubt the divine gift, girl?” 

 

“Girl?! GIRL?!” Hermione was so incensed, she nearly lost her balance. “I’ll have you know... I’M to be the newest perfessor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry!” 

 

The woman laughed. “Ah,” she said, “so you think you are above the touch of Fate.” 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, scoffing. “I think…  _ I _ think people who believe in  _ Fate... _ are the only sorts o’ fools  _ foolish _ enough to pay  _ money _ for some alleyway...  _ quack _ ’s predictable… _ predictions! _ ” 

 

“Oh, okay, ‘Mione,” Harry was saying. “We’d better go.” They were trying to pull her out into the street. 

 

“”No!” she snapped, throwing their arms off and stumbling toward the counter. “It’s tha truth. Someone’s gotter say it.  _ You... _ ‘re a pretender and a  _ con. _ ” 

 

“Okay, ‘Mione, let’s go, huh?” 

 

“Fate finds even the most certain nonbeliever,” said the woman. “You will face surprises very soon.” 

 

“Hermione snorted. “HA! Yeah, brilliant perdiction! ‘S’the best you got?” 

 

“No, my dear. I’m going to spoil them for you.” The woman’s eyes sparkled a moment before she lunged across the desk, grabbing Hermione’s head at the temples, her fingers snagging on the tangled curls. Hermione’s eyes flew wide as she struggled to pull away; her knees buckling beneath her as the woman chanted in a low, quick voice, glaring right into her eyes. “I will make you see it for yourself; spoil the best surprise. You will accept your Fate, but ‘til you do you’ll feel the pain of the Gift you so disdain.” 

 

Three sets of hands pulled on Hermione’s arms, dragging her weightlessly across the floor and out of the little shop. The woman’s cackling laughter chased after them down the street. “Happy dreams, Hermione Granger!” 

 

…

 

The four friends stumbled inside 12 Grimmauld, Ginny chasing Harry up the stairs. Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist, pulling her to him for a sloppy kiss. 

 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. They collapsed onto her bed without breaking away from each other and Ron eagerly began to remove his clothes. He was inside of her before she’d even taken off her top; his hot breath fanning across her neck, his movements soon becoming frantic. She gasped for him to hear, twining a hand in his hair while the other wrapped around his back. 

 

He came with a curse, squeezing his eyes shut as he froze inside her. 

 

They stretched out beside each other, Ron’s heavy breathing the only sound. And soon it evened out and morphed into the broken rhythm of drunken snores. Hermione stared at the darkness and thought about the fortune-teller: her crazed eyes, her angry words. Had it been a simple threat? Or something more? At the time, it had seemed like nothing more than an offended woman’s anger. But something about it was bothering Hermione. Something didn’t feel quite right. 

 

It was late when her worries faded enough from her mind that she was able to succumb to the oblivion of sleep. 

 

…

 

Pale light flickered and shifted beyond the veil of her shuttered eyelashes. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked against the light. The sheets were so soft and smelled so clean. She relished the feel of them against her naked skin as she stretched her aching limbs. Her head was perfectly clear, but her body felt sore, as if she’d been back to the gym instead of out to the pub till dawn. 

 

Warm summer air filtered through the open window, playing with the sheer cream curtains hanging open all around her four-poster bed. 

 

She jolted upright, her sheets falling from her naked breasts. This wasn’t her room at 12 Grimmauld. It was a pretty room, simply decorated and full of light. Pale blue sky peeked in through the enormous windows, which were opened wide to admit the breeze and the sounds of the birds outside. There was a wardrobe and a desk and a bookshelf full of titles familiar to her. A door stood ajar at the other end of the room and she could hear the faint sound of a shower running 

 

_ Ron _ . Hermione relaxed. Ron would know what was going on. 

 

Just as she thought his name, the water shut off, and in a moment, the door swung open. But it wasn’t Ron who stepped into the room, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist. No. The pale figure who appeared, sparse black hair plastered to a thin, faintly muscled torso, was none other than Professor Snape. 

 

Hermione gasped, yanking the sheets up over her breasts. How had he gotten here? Or had she somehow intruded on him? Were these his quarters and she had somehow Apparated here? 

 

The movement must have caught his eye because he glanced up at her, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Finally up, are you?” he said in a gently chiding voice, his tone deep and arrogant. He crossed to her in a few short strides. “Did I wear you out last night?” And before she knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers, his lips surprisingly soft, his kiss surprisingly tender. 

 

She gasped in surprise and bolted up in the bed, her intake of breath resounding in the dark, quiet bedchamber of 12 Grimmauld. 

 

…

 

_ Just a little plot bunny. Do you like it so far?   _


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione’s luggage followed her up the stairs to the great double doors at the front of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They stood open, welcoming her into the Entrance Hall. The sun was high in the sky and a late summer breeze toyed with the loose hairs escaping from the tight bun at the back of her head. Minerva McGonagall was waiting just inside. 

 

“It’s so good to have you here,” the older woman confided, clasping Hermione on the upper arms. “You can leave your things. They will be brought up to your rooms. Have you eaten?” 

 

“Not exactly.” 

 

“Good, good. Most of the others are having their lunch right now.” 

 

Hermione’s stomach flipped as her professor led her down the middle of the Great Hall. She supposed first days at a new job were supposed to be nerve-wracking. But it was one thing to make a good first impression and quite another to overcome the impression one made on a person when one was eleven years old. 

 

Most of her old professors smiled disarmingly when Minerva presented her to them. Hagrid got up and went around the table to smother her in a bone-breaking hug. But Severus Snape hardly nodded his head, returning his attention immediately to the book in his hand and his diligent chewing. She flushed at the memory of the dream she’d had the night before. Such a strange dream it had been. 

 

Minerva assigned her the seat between Hagrid and Snape, much to her chagrin. But luckily Hagrid’s enthusiasm covered any awkwardness she may have had sliding into the seat beside her old potions master. She hadn’t spoken with the elusive man since the Ministry’s Christmas ball last year. And that had been brief and awkward enough. 

 

But Hermione couldn’t keep herself from speaking to him for long. “So,” she began, drawing the Slytherin’s concentration away from the tome in his hand, “I suppose we’re to be colleagues, now.” 

 

“Hmm,” said Snape, lifting his eyes only briefly from the page, “astute as always, Miss Granger.” 

 

Hermione flushed, but was not deterred. “Hermione,” she corrected. “I’m not your student anymore, Professor.” 

 

Snape lifted an eyebrow at her then returned to his reading. She wanted to kick herself.  _ Professor? _ Had she really called him ‘professor’? And in the same breath that she’d told him she wasn’t his student anymore?  _ Ugh! _ He had always had that effect on her; taking her even at her most confident and making her feel like a fool. Maybe her anxiety about facing him as equals had been the impetus for that dream. She shook her head, resolving not to think about that. 

 

“So, I understand you’re teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she began again, not sure why she felt the need to talk to her old professor. Perhaps she felt that drawing him into a conversation might help alleviate some of the strange tension that filled the space between them. 

 

“I am,” he said, not looking at her. 

 

“The, er, first professor to teach it for more than one year in a row.” 

 

“Indeed.” 

 

“So, do you prefer it to Potions?” 

 

“Granger,” he snapped, “a more observant witch might notice that I am preoccupied with more important things, at the moment.” His eyes met hers, glittering when they caught the shocked expression on her face. “You may be my colleague, now, but I am under no obligation to waste my time on you.” 

 

“Ah. Forgive me,” she replied in a clipped voice, “for being so terribly  _ rude _ .” 

 

The silence remained tense for the rest of the meal, but Hermione refused to let him see how desperate she was to get away. Instead, she took her time, chatting happily with Hagrid and Pomona Sprout. She could feel the Slytherin bristling beside her, and that gave her a strange satisfaction. She was no longer his pupil, after all. He couldn’t bully her anymore.  _ He has no power over me. _

 

After lunch, Minerva showed her to her quarters in a tower she couldn’t remember ever visiting before. “We recommend you set your own wards, of course,” said the older witch as she unlocked the door. 

 

“Oh! How lovely!” 

 

The door opened onto a small living area with a sofa and chairs around a large fireplace and a desk off to the side. The walls were lined with bookshelves that she couldn’t wait to fill. Large windows overlooked the lawn and the Forbidden Forest, spilling afternoon light into the cheerful room. 

 

Supposing that the door at the far end must lead to the bedroom, Hermione hurried over to it, stopping in the doorway as she took in the view, her jaw dropping in horror and eyes widening at the sight. It was a simple room; sparsely decorated with wide windows and a four-poster bed lined with sheer, cream curtains. The deja vu was overwhelming. 

 

_ Oh Gods _ , she thought.  _ What the Hell is going on?  _

 

...

 

Clearly it was a trick of some sort. A prank. A curse meant to… mess with one’s mind. Right? After all, there were few things more ridiculous than having a naked Severus Snape in her new bedroom. It must have been some sort of curse that causes the victim to dream up a ludicrous nightmare, but yet… not so ludicrous that it wasn’t at least… plausible. 

 

Hermione laughed at herself, rolling her eyes at the admission.  _ Plausible? Really?  _ Well, of course it was completely absurd, but not out of the realm of possibility. That had to be intentional. After all, this bothered her much more than it would if it had been, say… Hagrid.  _ Ewww! _

 

She decided to distract herself with a good book and a glass of sherry from the kitchens. Minerva had introduced her to an elf named Bippy who was in charge of seeing to all the professors’ needs. Of course, Bippy had needed some assuring, what with Hermione’s reputation for elf liberation. But Hermione promised not to try to free any more elves and that seemed to satisfy Bippy. 

 

So she sipped her sherry and read her book in her softest pajamas, curled up in her enormous four-poster bed, with the windows open to admit the evening breeze. It was early when she turned out the lights and went to sleep. 

 

...

 

Warmth. 

 

Comfort.

 

Fine black hairs she couldn’t stop running her fingers through. His skin was sticky with a sheen of sweat, and so was hers. She could feel it on her face, where her hair clung to her neck, and collecting between their bodies, wherever they touched. Her shoulder was tucked up beneath his arm, which wrapped around her back. Her naked breasts pressed against his ribs. And one of her legs was hooked over his, the satin of her skin tickled by the coarse hairs that covered his. She didn’t have to look beneath the sheets to know that they were as black as the chest hairs she kept running her fingers through. 

 

Fine black hairs. 

 

But Ron didn’t have fine black hair. 

 

Hermione jolted up, alarmed to meet the eyes of Severus Snape, once again. He smiled lazily at her, his expression one of happy lethargy. And then a spark of recognition. “Oh, not now,” he groaned, his voice deep and sleepy. 

 

Hermione jerked away, yanking the sheets up to cover her breasts. “What. The.  _ Hell? _ ” she hissed. This didn’t feel like a dream. She was as certain as she had ever been about anything that she and Snape really were here in this moment in her bed together. 

 

His eyes went wide with alarm and he sat up, drawing away from her with something that looked like shame. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, “is this it? Is it happening?” 

 

“Is  _ what _ happening?” 

 

“Oh God, it is, isn’t it?” 

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“The first… premonition…” 

 

“The first… you mean…”

 

He nodded, then cringed down at himself. “Oh  _ gods _ , like this? No wonder…” But then an amused smirk broke out across his face “Then again, I suppose it could have been worse.” 

 

Hermione’s eyes went wide at his insinuation; at the sudden realization that she wasn’t just naked, but wet between her legs and sore in a way that suggested he had been there only minutes ago. 

 

He must have seen her horror, for his eyes fell closed and his brow furrowed with shame. “Hermione,” he said, reaching for her instinctivey. She jerked away, immediately regretting it when he winced at the gesture, hurt flickering across his face. 

 

It was that expression of hurt that chased her back to the dark bedroom where she woke with a gasp, the sheets damp with her sweat. 

 

And in that moment, she was convinced that had not been a dream. 

 

…

 

_ Please Review! _


	3. Chapter 3

_ It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real _ , Hermione chanted to herself as she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Her logical mind believed it had been a vivid hallucination produced by an elaborate curse. But her heart was convinced it had been real. 

 

Hermione nearly turned around when she saw Professor Snape sitting up at the high table, next to her empty place. She wasn’t ready to deal with him again. 

 

It was her pride that made her lift her chin and march down the aisle, ignoring the way his bored black eyes followed her the entire way. “Good morning,” she practically sang when she reached her seat. 

 

“Mornin’ Hermione!” said Hagrid, still just as excited to see her as he had been the day before. Snape did little more than grunt in recognition of her. 

 

It felt so strange to sit next to the man she had  _ dreamt _ so vividly of the night before. It felt like a trespass. She may not have known for certain the way his chest was sprinkled with fine black hair, or how his faintly muscled torso felt against her own. But she could imagine. 

 

She could imagine the way his lips would feel if he kissed her and the lazy way he would smile, sated in her sheets from what must have been a very thorough love-making. 

 

Hermione’s cheeks burned. She had never considered the austere professor in any sexual way, but now that she had noticed, it was impossible to deny. He was tall and self-assured in a quiet, intellectual way. He almost looked younger than he had during the War and she had to admit that he was actually quite handsome. The intriguing, elusive, Slytherin spy. Yes, she had always had a high opinion of the man and a part of her ached to see that look of satisfaction in his eyes. But to sleep with him? It was preposterous. 

 

Hermione spent the day scouring the library for any information on Hallucinogenic curses, to no avail. A part of her knew she should be looking on the Divination aisle, but she wasn’t ready to concede that defeat.  _ It wasn’t real _ , she told herself.  _ It was all just a dream.  _

 

...

 

That night, she lit a fire and flooed the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld. 

 

“‘Mione!” said Ginny, running over and crouching on the floor. 

 

“How is it?” said Harry, taking a bite of a biscuit as he joined his girlfriend on the floor.

 

“Great! It’s really great! So far…”

 

“‘Mione!” said Ron, joining his friends, “you’re really miffing out,” he mumbled around a mouthful of something. “Ginny juft made a batch of bifcuitf and dey’re  _ fo good… _ ” 

 

Ginny smirked, shrugging. “Wish we could pass some through the fire to you.” 

 

“Me too,” said Hermione. Staff fireplaces were set up to allow for  _ conversational  _ Flooing, but  _ not _ for any sort of travel or transference. 

 

“So,” said Harry, “is it weird?” 

 

“A little. I’m sure it will be strange when I’ve got students. For now, it’s all just so… surreal. You should see my quarters, though! They’re perfect!” 

 

“Good! That’s great, Hermione. I’m so glad.” 

 

Ginny grabbed Harry by the elbow, gesturing meaningfully to Ron. “Well, we’d better get up to bed. We’ll leave you too alone. Great to see you, ‘Mione!” 

 

“You, too.”

 

The happy couple left and Ron faced the fire, grinning through a mouthful of biscuit. 

 

“Oh Ron, I miss you so much!”

 

Ron swallowed, nearly choking on a laugh. “‘Mione, it’s only been two days!” 

 

“I know, but… you will visit me soon, won’t you? This castle is awfully big when it’s this empty.” 

 

“Yeah, of course, ‘Mione. Maybe I can come stay this weekend.” 

 

“Really? That would be perfect!” 

 

Ron shrugged. “Sure.” 

 

There was an awkward pause while both of them searched for something to say. 

 

“Well,” said Ron, “I’d better get back to my homework. We’ve got a test tomorrow and I’ve got to do well on it. Tonks has already stuck her neck out enough for me.” 

 

“Yeah, of course. You’d better get on. It was good to see you.” 

 

“Yeah, you too, ‘Mione.” 

 

“Goodnight, then.” 

 

“Night.” 

 

The fire went out and Hermione sat there a moment longer, staring at the empty place where Ron’s face had been. She felt hollow and uneasy, but she wasn’t sure why. 

 

…

 

Geometric shapes and diagrams of advanced theoretical Arithmancy came into focus first. Next, the shape of the book they had been drawn into and the feel of it in her hands; the feel of a hard surface behind her back and a soft cushion beneath her arse; and beneath her legs, a pair of rather sturdy thighs. 

 

Her whole body jerked in reaction as she glanced up at him in shock. 

 

They were sitting together on a sofa, her back against the arm and her legs across his lap. Apparently, they had both been reading. At her movement, those dark eyes of his left the pages of his own book and darted over to her with a smile that faltered when he saw her face. “Hermione?”

 

She flinched away from him, taken aback by his use of her name. 

 

“Ah,” he said, his face suddenly blank, “Miss Granger.” 

 

“ _ What _ is going  _ on? _ ” she whined, pulling her legs out of his lap and scrambling to her feet. “What  _ is _ this? Why is it happening? How do I make it  _ stop?! _ ” 

 

He glanced down at his book, hiding the hurt that flashed across his face. This only heightened her dysphoria as panic closed in around her, crushing her chest until she couldn’t breathe. Hermione glanced around the room for some escape from this nightmare. It was not familiar and she realized they must be in his quarters this time.  _ This time. _ They were darker than her rooms, having no windows. In fact, she had no idea what time of day it must have been. She was hyperventilating when her professor leapt to his feet and clasped her by the upper arms. 

 

“Hermione,” he said, “it’s alright. Stop thinking. Just breathe. Deep and slow. Five seconds in, ten seconds out. Can you do that for me?”

 

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes and focusing on the air coming into her lungs. She counted the seconds in and out and in and out until her heart ceased its pounding and her panic released its iron grip on her chest. 

 

“Feeling better?”

 

She nodded, opening her eyes to meet the anxious gaze of her professor. He released her arms and turned away from her. 

 

“Herm-Miss Granger,” he began in a hesitant tone, “forgive me. For the way I handled the situation last time. I’m afraid… I suppose I rather shocked you.” 

 

Hermione blinked down at her hands, wondering how they could feel so real; how everything could seem so real, if this was only just a dream. “Last time…” she murmured, “you… you called it a ‘premonition.’” 

 

He nodded. 

 

“And so… you knew about it?” 

 

Her professor froze, his face blank. He said nothing. 

 

“You… you know what it is, don’t you? You know what that… what that  _ woman _ did to me…” 

 

“I’m afraid you must solve that mystery, yourself.” 

 

“But you  _ know _ …”

 

“You are not unfamiliar with the dangers of meddling with Time, Miss Granger. You  _ know _ I cannot reveal what I only know as it has been revealed to me… by you.” 

 

Hermione huffed impatiently as tears of frustration sprung to her eyes. She turned away so he wouldn’t see and discreetly wiped them from her face. 

 

“Forgive my curiosity,” he began again, hesitating until she turned to face him once more, “but I… I wonder…  _ when _ are you? Now?” 

 

Answering him felt like acknowledging that this was really true. “It’s only my second night in the castle, before the start of term.” 

 

His eyebrows shot up. “So early?” 

 

She nodded. 

 

He paced away from her, rubbing the back of his neck. “But then, I suppose it is a bitter pill…” 

 

She resented the note of self-pity in his voice. After all, it wasn’t as if he had ever done anything to encourage her good opinion of him. And how many times had she taken his side when others had put him down? If he  _ was _ a difficult man to love, it certainly wasn’t  _ her _ fault! 

 

“Oh gods,” she murmured to herself, beginning to pace and pinching her cheeks, “wake up, wake up. Please, just wake up.” She caught his unflinching gaze and jerked away, slapping herself on the cheeks and squeezing her eyes shut. “Gods, please,  _ please _ …” 

 

And when she opened them again, she was in the dark, beneath the sheets, panting into the chilly midnight air. 


	4. Chapter 4

Severus Snape did not show up to breakfast the next morning. Hermione knew she should have been relieved, but somehow it disappointed her and… almost made her feel... angry. After all, he had become the main focus of her mind, these last few days. Who was he to go about his days completely unaware? How could he be so indifferent to her presence? How could he not care to see her? 

 

Of course, that made no sense. 

 

She turned over the facts in her mind as she ate. The Seer had definitely Cursed her. There was no doubt about that. She still couldn’t be sure the visions were premonitions, and not simple hallucinations, but they certainly seemed real. She couldn’t discount the fact that she had dreamed of her own bedroom before she’d ever seen it, but there could be any number of mind tricks up that old woman’s sleeves. Sighing heavily, Hermione resigned herself to spending the day in the library. 

 

The library, as it turned out, had an extensive Divination collection. She had never really had any need of that subject, so it had completely passed her notice. But now, it was almost overwhelming in its enormity. She began by searching through the subject cards in the library’s Dewey Decimal system for “premonition” and “dream curses,” but there were loads of books that talked about these. Sighing dramatically, she selected a number of promising titles and lugged them to a table by a window. 

 

Apparently, there were quite a few ways an angry Seer could curse an unsuspecting (though admittedly rude) young witch. So far, none of the various curses (causing a person to enter the dreams of another, to live their life in reverse, or to see the moment of a person’s death each time they met someone for the first time) quite matched up to Hermione’s symptoms. On a positive note, though, she was starting to feel like she’d gotten let off rather easy. 

 

“Divination?” The deep, velvety voice of Severus Snape so shocked Hermione that she yipped audibly as she swung around to look at him. He raised a patronizing eyebrow at her. 

 

“Er yes. I was, er… trying to find… something.” 

 

His lips twisted up at the corner in disgust. “I’ve always believed that my colleagues overestimated your intelligence, Miss Granger, but I never supposed you were a fool.” 

 

Hermione’s cheeks grew hot, but the embarrassment she would have felt in years past arose this time as fury, instead. “Did you come all the way over here just to insult me?” 

 

His sneer only twisted malevolently. “You think yourself very important, don’t you, Miss Granger.” 

 

Hermione lurched to her feet, glaring up at him, her chin lifted. “You may call me Hermione or you may call me Professor Granger, but I am not your student anymore.” Power rushed through her, thrilling her, giving her the courage to hold his eyes even as they glittered with amusement. She couldn’t stop herself from adding, “And you, Sir, are being an arse.” 

 

He held her gaze, a curious fire burning in his eyes, as her breathing steadied. Finally, he leaned closer to her, bending his neck so that his breath tickled her hair; and in a tone deep with mischief and laden with meaning, he said “very well... Hermione.” Then he swept away, leaving her standing there feeling exhilarated, flustered, and confused. 

 

…

 

That night, she dreamt of the library. She’d been looking for something, but now she couldn’t imagine what. The shelf in front of her seemed to be full of advanced Charms texts. That was hardly surprising. She was the new Charms professor, after all. 

 

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his solid frame. “They’ve gone,” he murmured over her sharp intake of breath. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.” Then, his mouth found the bare skin of her neck. Hot breath preceded an even hotter tongue and the faint, teasing nip of his teeth. She gasped aloud and spun away from him, knocking into the shelf hard enough to leave a bruise. 

 

Their eyes met, first in surprise, then in understanding. “I’m still not convinced you’re real,” she told him, though it felt like a lie. “But I’m… I’ve been doing some research.”

 

“Any luck?” 

 

She shook her head. They were silent for a moment long enough to become awkward. Finally, she couldn’t help herself any longer. “You’re a real git, you know?” 

 

He let out a short laugh, the merriment reaching his eyes. It was so at odds with the ugly sneer she had expected that she was taken aback. “What have I done this time?” he asked, his deep, appealing voice rich with amusement. 

 

“You… you called me a fool.” 

 

“Ahh,” he said, somehow turning the sound into a growl, “when I found you in the library?”  She nodded, watching his face grow more guarded as he remembered that she was not his Hermione.  _ Yet _ . “Forgive me. When I saw you there, I admit that I was rather… taken aback by your choice of material. Naturally, in retrospect, your objective is clear. It seems it is I who was the fool, after all.” 

 

Somehow, this answer didn’t satisfy Hermione. She wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. Pressing her lips together in frustration, she shook her head at him. “I wish I could tell you that in the real world.” 

 

He lowered his gaze, his brow furrowing, then gave her a sad little smile. “Hermione,” he murmured, turning her name into a caress, “this is the real world.” 

 

...

 

Stepping into The Three Broomsticks was like taking a step back in time. In some ways, this place was even more nostalgic than Hogwarts. Hermione paused to breathe in all the memories she’d made here and the magical feel of them. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a butterbeer while she waited for Ron. He’d be out of his Auror training any minute and then he’d be hers all weekend. 

 

She watched the clock on the wall behind the bar, darting glances at the fireplace and sipping her frothy beer, practically humming with excitement. When the floo glowed green and Ron stepped out in a cloud of soot, she leapt up from her seat and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. 

 

“Oi!” he laughed, wrapping her in a big bear hug. “I missed you too.” And when he pulled away, she admired that big, dimpled grin on his face. Stretching up onto her tiptoes, Hermione planted a soft kiss against his mouth. He returned it eagerly, pulling her tight against him and squeezing her bum. She didn’t even care that they were out in public. It was so good to be together again. 

 

Hermione led Ron over to her place at the bar and they ordered some fish and chips and a round of real beers and Hermione asked Ron all about his training and how it was going and Ron regaled her with humorous stories about his classes and his classmates and what it was like to study under Tonks. And they drank and held hands until the world was fuzzy and warm. Then, they stumbled back to the castle and all the way into Hermione’s sheets. 

 

They kissed so earnestly, and lost themselves in passion, feeling at the end more satisfied than they had in a long time. Then Hermione curled up against Ron’s side and fell asleep. 

 

...

 

They were sitting at the top of the Great Hall, in front of a room full of students, and her hand was in his beneath the table, resting on his knee. Hermione jerked it away, her face snapping to him and his to her. A flicker of comprehension passed between them. 

 

“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “ _ No!  _ No, no, no, no…” 

 

“Hermione,” he pleaded in a quiet voice, his eyes flickering meaningfully toward their audience. 

 

“No. No, I can’t. I just can’t right now.” She stood from her place, leaving a full plate on the table, and swept through the teachers’ entrance behind their chairs. The corridor was empty and her footsteps echoed as she hurried away, a knot forming in her throat, tears threatening behind her eyes. 

 

“Hermione,” he called after her, running to catch up. He swept in front of her and caught her with his hands on her upper arms. 

 

“Don’t,” she warned, pushing his hands away.

 

“Please…”

 

“No. No! This is  _ your _ fault! I’m  _ happy!  _ I’m  _ happy _ with Ron. We’re  _ happy! _ ” He went rigid, his face blank, as if she’d turned him to stone. “I don’t know  _ what _ is going on, but… Ron and I  _ belong _ together!” Tears were pouring down her cheeks now and he was just standing there, unresponsive. She resented him for being hurt by her words. It was the  _ truth _ , after all. “I can’t be here right now,” she said and pushed past him, hating him for being hurt and hating that  _ witch  _ in Diagon Alley for doing  _ whatever _ she’d done, and finally, eventually, hating herself for the damage she’d just done. 

 

She woke up gasping into the night air, her face wet with tears. Ron was there beside her, a quick glance confirmed. Her sigh of relief became a groan and she buried her face in her arms, letting the pain wash over her in waves as she quietly sobbed.

 

…

 

_ Please Review! _


	5. Chapter 5

It was late morning when Ron kissed her awake. Her head was pounding from their night at the pub and his breath was foul. She tried to push him away, but he was insistent. Eventually, she gave in to his advances, opening her legs to him and wrapping her fingers in his hair as he had his way. 

 

That was how it felt. That he was just having his way. She wasn’t even aroused. So why had she given in? She was still wondering this and beginning to resent him for it when he came inside of her, gasping his nasty breath right into her face. But then as he rested there on top of her, his ear pressed against her chest, she felt a surge of affection for him. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t been in the mood. That was thanks to that bloody fortune teller and her curse. Of course, she couldn’t tell him that. 

 

They rose for the day and showered and dressed and Hermione offered to send for some breakfast to be brought up. Ron declined. “When else am I ever gonna get the chance to eat at the Head Table?” he said. 

 

Hermione hesitated. “I don’t know, Ron. We have assigned seats…”

 

“No one’s even gonna be there,” he assured her, waving her worries away. “It’s too late for breakfast and too early for lunch.” 

 

She bit her lip, but she had to admit he had a point. Eventually, she agreed. 

 

“So this is what it’s like,” Ron marvelled as they entered the Great Hall through the entrance behind the Head Table. “And where do you sit?” 

 

Hermione led him over to her seat and was about to offer him Hagrid’s chair when she realized how enormous the thing was. Ron would be dwarfed by it. 

 

“I’m guessing you sit next to Hagrid?” Ron grinned, pleased with his own observation. “And who sits on this side?” 

 

“Um… Professor Snape,” she told him, guilt rising unbidden from somewhere buried deep inside. 

 

Ron’s head snapped to look at her, his expression aghast. “You have to sit next to the Greasy Git?” he said, drawing out each word in horror. “Every day?” Hermione wished he wouldn’t make that sound like such a bad thing. It made her feel even worse about these stupid dreams. Though she wasn’t sure why. 

 

Severus Snape chose that exact moment to step through the door out onto the dais. The expression in his narrowed eyes was enough to tell Hermione that he’d heard every word. “Believe me,” he drawled, “it’s not an ideal situation for either of us.” His voice was deep and a little rough with sleep. It made Hermione’s pulse leap strangely. 

 

“Oh, hullo, Professor,” Ron smirked, holding out his hand. Snape ignored it, his eyes flickering to Ron’s other hand where it rested on the back of his chair. 

 

“As I believe your… girlfriend… has informed you, Mr. Weasley, that seat belongs to me.” 

 

Ron shifted his weight, his smirk spreading. Hermione grabbed his arm, but he shrugged her away. “We’re just going to have a bit of breakfast,” he said, not breaking eye contact with his old professor. “There are plenty of other seats.” He gestured toward the rest of the table, as if he were offering them to the other man. Hermione had never seen this side of Ron before. She didn’t like it. 

 

“Yes,” agreed Professor Snape, his eyes calculating and his lips twisted in a smirk of disdain, “and I recommend you choose one at the opposite end.” 

 

Hermione shouldn’t have been surprised that Snape would answer the challenge, but it was surreal to see the two men face off in such a strangely territorial way. “Ron, let’s just move,” she said. 

 

“No,” said Ron, not turning to look at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were here first. He can find another seat. 

 

“It’s his seat, Ron…”

 

“It’s just a chair. He can find another.” 

 

“Mr. Weasley, you are a guest in this castle. You are in no position…”

 

“And you aren’t my professor, anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.” 

 

“Ron, come on,” Hermione begged, shaking his arm.

 

Severus Snape’s eyes shifted from Ron onto herself. “ _ Hermione _ ,” he drawled, turning her name into a patronizing caress. Ron stiffened and Hermione was taken aback. “Perhaps I could have a word with you... alone.” 

 

Despite Ron’s protestations, Hermione followed her colleague out into the corridor, feeling like a first year all over again. How had this gotten so far out of hand? Why couldn’t Ronald have just chosen a different seat? 

 

Snape led her a short distance down the corridor before spinning on his heel, giving his robes a dramatic swirl. She stopped short even as he closed the distance between them. They were far too close for comfort, but she wasn’t going to be the one to step away. Instead, she tipped her chin up as he loomed over her, glaring down with those calculating eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was a velvety growl that she felt all the way to her core. “Your personal relationships are of no concern to me,” he began, though his tone spoke of distaste. “You have every right to chain yourself to that arrogant hothead, though I imagine he’ll only restrict you from reaching your full potential. Indeed, seeing you roll over for that display of bravado gives me the urge to retch. But that is your choice…” 

 

“You’re  _ wrong! _ ” Hermione snapped, anger rising more readily to the surface in light of her recent hallucinations. 

 

“What is  _ not _ acceptable,” Severus Snape continued, as if she hadn’t said a word, “is for  _ any _ guest of yours to enter my domain and presume to tell me what to do…”

 

“He didn’t… he shouldn’t…” She wanted to defend Ron, but there was nothing she could say. He was right and she hated that he was right and she wanted to smack that arrogant smirk right off his face. 

 

“Go on,” he told her, straightening to his full height. “Sit where you will and enjoy your breakfast. I find I have lost my appetite.” And with another swirl of his infamous robes, he stalked away. 

 

Hermione watched him leave, struggling with herself for some better response before stomping back to the Great Hall. When she returned to the dais, she found Ron sitting in Professor Snape’s chair, happily shoveling potatoes into his mouth. “What… was that?” she asked him as she slipped into her own seat. 

 

“What?” He said, shrugging it off as he took another bite. “He was being a git.” 

 

“Yeah, and so were you.” 

 

“Was not. He thinks he can still tell us what to do. You do remember how he treated us, don’t you? Old bastard is too used to getting his way, bossing little kids around.”

 

“So you decided to take a stand…”

 

“Nasty git, pathetic really. Sulking about, thinking he’s better than me because he used to take House Points…” 

 

“ _ Ron _ . He. Is. My.  _ Colleague _ , now. You can’t just…”

 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, okay? I guess I should have just bowed out of the way…”

 

“No, of course not! You’re being ridiculous!” 

 

“ _ I’m _ being ridiculous? The man was insisting we took his seat. There’s a full table of seats, aren’t there. It’s like First year all over again.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione snapped, throwing up her hands. They could argue this around and around all day if they wanted to. What good would it do? 

 

They were silent through the rest of the meal and all the way back to Hermione’s quarters. There, they plopped down on the sofa and glanced around for something to say. 

 

“Look,” said Ron, after a tense moment, “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have started a fight with one of your…  _ colleagues _ . Let’s just enjoy the rest of the weekend, alright? I’ve missed you.” He took her hand, giving her an earnest smile. 

 

She couldn’t stay mad at that face. “Yes, alright,” she sighed, her lips turning up at one corner. “So what would you like to do?” 

 

Again, they glanced around the room, this time searching for something to do, some way to spend the time. “Well,” said Ron, leering at her and opening a palm against her thigh, “there’s always…” 

 

“Ronald,” she laughed as he leaned into her and peppered her face with kisses. Then he met her mouth and she kissed him back until he had maneuvered her onto her back. Her mind flickered to the way she’d felt this morning, how she’d been angry with herself for giving in when she didn’t really feel like having sex. “No,” she gasped against his mouth, “not now, okay?” 

 

Ron looked up at her in genuine surprise. “Why not?” he asked, perplexed. “Are you still angry with me?” 

 

“No, I just…” 

 

“Then why…” he whined in a teasing voice, bending to nibble her neck. 

 

“I just… don’t feel like it right now.” 

 

His eyes met hers, their blue depths flickering from hurt to mild annoyance. He pulled away, sitting back against the couch. She joined him, straightening her clothes. “Well, alright then,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “So what do you want to do?” 

 

If they had been back at Grimmauld, she would have proposed a film, but Muggle electricity didn’t work inside of Hogwarts, so that was out. “Want to play a game?” 

 

The first hour of Exploding Snap was a lot of fun. They stretched out on the floor, laughing and enjoying the competitive nature of the game. But then it began to stretch on and on and Hermione could tell they had both lost interest long ago. She caught Ron checking the Muggle watch he’d taken to wearing and proposed a game of chess for a change of pace. 

 

“Nah,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I think I’ve beat you enough for one day.” Then he shuffled closer to her and caught her chin, covering her mouth with his own. She kissed him back, a bit warily at first and then annoyed when he leaned her back against the carpet, crushing her to the floor. 

 

“Ron,” she managed, pulling away from his lips, “not now, okay?” She caught him rolling his eyes as he pulled off of her and sat there with his arms draped across his knees. 

 

“Alright,” he said, his voice annoyed, “now what?” 

 

Hermione frowned at him. She wanted to tell him that if he was so bored maybe he should just go home, but instead she took a breath and leaned back against the couch. “I dunno,” she told him, shrugging stubbornly. 

 

Ron glanced at his watch again. “Want to go to Hogsmeade?” 

 

They left the castle in much brighter spirits, linking arms as they made the trek to the quiet town. Hermione had dressed in a set of navy robes with a modest but flattering cut that hugged her curves and left a V of skin bare at her chest. They made her feel mature and beautiful. Uplifted, she happily indulged Ron’s need to visit Honeydukes, even giving in to the temptation of a chocolate frog. In turn, he followed her begrudgingly as she wandered the aisles of Tomes and Scrolls. 

 

When it was finally suitably late enough, they ended up at The Three Broomsticks. Conversation came much easier after a couple of pints. The easy familiarity returned and their spirits lifted as their blood rose in their cheeks. They decided to eat there and ordered roast beef and shepherd's pie. Hermione found she was so full from the beer they’d been drinking that she could only pick at her plate. But Ron was happy to help her finish it. They were nursing yet another pint, swaying a bit in their seats and chatting happily about Ron’s training in the Auror department (Hermione had heard all of these stories already, but her patience had lengthened with the dull warmth the golden ale had bestowed upon her and she was enjoying listening to them anyway) when the door to the pub flew open and Hagrid appeared. 

 

“Aha!” he said, when he caught sight of Hermione, “there she is!” He lumbered across the room toward them and she was surprised to see Neville Longbottom behind him, leading up a group that included Madame Hooch and Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, and (as if to top off the rocky day she’d had so far)… Snape. 

 

Hermione felt her face turn red as she spun back toward Ron. Classes hadn’t even started yet and already they were all going to see her drunk. 

 

“We looked all over for ye!” said Hagrid, clapping them both on the shoulders hard enough that they nearly fell off their respective stools. “The lot of us thought ter have a bit of a toast before the start of term. Oh! And look what we have here!” He turned and gestured to Neville with a massive hand. “Turns out ol’ Neville here is gonner study under Professor Sprout.” 

 

“Kind of a last minute decision,” said Neville, giving the two of them a playful wink. He seemed to have grown half a foot since they last saw him and he’d bulked up quite a bit. 

 

Hagrid and Neville took the stools beside Ron while the rest of the group headed to the other side of the bar. Hermione tried to listen to what Neville was saying about the last couple years of his life and how he had decided to come back to study Herbology in depth, but her attention kept flickering across the bar to the dark figure paying apt attention to Aurora Sinistra and Rolanda Hooch. Both of the older witches were turned toward him, ignoring Flitwick on their other side and grinning in what seemed like a flirtatious way. 

 

It shouldn’t have bothered her.

 

Hermione ordered another pint, sipping on the bubbling golden brew as a sort of distraction. Ron and Neville were talking about Quidditch (of course) and Flitwick had come to sit beside Hagrid, drawing him into a conversation that Hermione couldn’t hear. Her eyes kept returning to the man who had been haunting her dreams and marvelling at the strangeness of seeing him laugh. 

 

She was watching him, wondering how she’d never noticed that he had dimples, when his dark eyes shot across the bar, catching hers in their clever gaze. A flush sprung to life in her cheeks and she jerked her attention back to Ron and Neville and their opinions on the latest World Cup, feeling the curious gaze of her professor lingering upon her. 

 

Her glass was almost empty again by the time she chanced another glance across the bar. Aurora Sinistra had turned in her seat to face Rolanda Hooch and was playfully toying with the other woman’s hair, leaning against her in a way that spoke of intimacy. Severus Snape was nursing a pint, his eyes wandering the room with a bored expression. She couldn’t help but think back to the dreams she’d been having and the strange contrast between the Snape of her dreams and the one of her waking life. And then, before she knew what she was doing, she found herself slipping off her stool and circling the bar toward him. 

 

Even as she approached, even as his eyes flickered apathetically toward her, Hermione didn’t know why she was doing it or what she was going to say. She just felt a strange desire to confront this man who had stirred up so much trouble in her life. So it surprised her as much as it did him when she slid onto the stool beside him and said, “I wanted to apologise.” He lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing, so she continued. “Ronald’s behaviour this morning…”

 

“You are not accountable for Mr. Weasley,” he replied, his voice steady and smooth as crushed velvet. 

 

“Yes, well…” she began again, a little flustered, “then I suppose I’m sorry for the way I reacted. You were quite right and I should have acknowledged that. It won’t happen again.” 

 

Snape snorted, shaking his head, but said nothing. 

 

“You and I are colleagues, now,” Hermione began again, annoyed by his response. “I would like for us to put the past behind us and begin again with a clean slate.” 

 

“Oh, I have no doubt you would prefer that, Miss Granger, but I am afraid it is impossible.” 

 

“But…”

 

“I can no more brush aside my opinions of you than I can believe that you are truly content with Mr. Weasley.” 

 

Hermione flinched back as if he had struck her. “I beg your pardon.” 

 

“True, the two of you have a good deal of history and I suppose it was inevitable that you would attach yourself to one of the two. And if the alternative was Potter, I can understand your choice to some degree. And yet, Mr. Weasley was never, nor will he ever be, your intellectual equal. If you aren’t bored with him already, I imagine you soon will be.” 

 

Outrage flared to life in Hermione’s chest. “What right do you have…” she began. 

 

“Ahhh,” he chuckled, “I’ve hit a nerve.” His eyes were glittering with malicious glee and she decided his dimples were not attractive at all. 

 

“You’re hardly the one to be giving  _ me _ advice…” she hissed, cutting off when she realized what she was about to say. 

 

But Severus Snape was no fool. The sparkle in his eyes turned cold and his smirk froze on his face. It was a nearly imperceptible difference, but she picked up on it just the same. “I suppose…” he began in a dangerous, dark tone, “that you think I have no… experience… in these matters. That… surely, your dreaded Potions Master has never been intimate with anyone. But there have been witches in my past who warmed my sheets until the appeal of a consistent bedfellow could no longer compensate for the slow torture of tedious conversation.” 

 

Hermione didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Was that all they were to you?” 

 

Something flickered across his face, as if he were catching his own miscalculation, then his attention shifted past her just as an arm landed hard across her shoulders. 

 

“‘Mione,” Ron sang, squeezing her to him so forcefully that she almost fell off her stool, “where’d ya go?” His eyes were bleary and unfocused. He didn’t wait for her to reply, but turned to Professor Snape. “You don’t mind, do ya Snape?” he slurred, “if I take my  _ girlfriend _ back for a bit?” He grinned then buried his face in Hermione’s hair, whispering loudly enough for the professor to hear, “Can’t wait to get you home and outer those…  _ stuffy _ robes. Y’bout ready?” 

 

Severus Snape had turned back to the bar, pointedly ignoring them, but looking peeved despite himself. Hermione was torn between embarrassment at Ron’s behaviour and anger at what the older man had said. Right now, she wanted nothing to do with either of them. But Ron was drunk and already keen to get her into bed. Would he be angry if she told him ‘no’ again? And the other would surely be showing up in her dreams, which she didn’t want to deal with right now, either. 

 

But then they were stumbling out the door, heading back down the path to Hogwarts, Ron knocking into her with every step and singing in a loud annoying voice, completely off key. The world was a blur around her. She wished she could take back the last pint or so. She must have drunk it all too fast and now it was catching up to her. 

 

Her rooms were too bright for this late at night (a problem which she quickly rectified) and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed and fall asleep. But Ron had other ideas in mind. He followed her into the sheets, searching for her through the dark with his hands. She pushed against him and gave a little groan, but he ignored it, pawing at her with cold hands and finding her mouth with his own wet one. 

 

“ _ No _ ,” she moaned, “not now.” 

 

“Aw, come on,” he teased, biting her neck a little too hard and grinding his pelvis against the front of her knickers. “I’ve been waiting all day.” 

 

“ _ No, _ Ronald. I… I’m… not in the mood.”

 

“Whaddya mean you’re ‘not in the mood’?” he whined, propping himself up on his elbows. “You haven’t been in the mood all day.” 

 

“Yeah, well…” Hermione shrugged into the sheets. What else could she say?

 

“All we’ve got is tonight, ya know. I’m not gonna see you for a while and you don’t even want me.” 

 

Hermione groaned and sat up, bringing the lights up in the room with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like that, Ron,” she said, anger rising in her voice. 

 

“Sure it is! We’ve had a shit day and a shit night and you  _ left me _ at the bar to go and sit with  _ Snape _ , of all people.” 

 

“Yeah! So? I had to apologise for  _ your _ behaviour at breakfast.” 

 

“ _ So?!  _ So you left me at the bar to go and sit with another  _ man! _ ” 

 

Hermione snorted, glancing away. “Professor  _ Snape, _ Ron.”

 

“Yeah, and he’s a man isn’t he?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Hardly,” she laughed, looking anywhere but at Ron. 

 

“You think he doesn’t want to fuck you? Same as any other bloke?”

 

Her eyes popped to his at that and her jaw dropped in horror. “ _ What? _ Of all the ridiculous…”

 

“No, he does! Of course he does! Didn’t you see how he looked at you? He was right angry when I showed up and took you away.” 

 

“No, he…”

 

“He wants to get in your knickers and you were giving him every reason to think he had a chance…”

 

“I was  _ not! _ ” 

 

“You went and SAT WITH HIM!” 

 

“ _ SO?! _ ”

 

“ _ SO _ …” Ron broke off, waving his arms in the air, at a loss of what to say. “So, he’s the Greasy Git, ‘Mione.” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

He shook his head, rolling his eyes before collapsing back against the bed and rubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t wanna fight,” he finally said. “I’ve got to go back tomorrow and I won’t see you for a while.” He turned to her and pulled her back down to the mattress, wrapping an arm around her waist and smiling into her eyes. “I just want to be here with you.” 

 

Hermione sighed, allowing herself to relax. “Yeah, alright,” she mumbled. 

 

He beamed at her. “Good,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Because I’m going to miss you.”

 

Her reluctant smile relaxed into something more genuine as she curled a hand in the front of his shirt. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said. 

 

He smiled, planting a long kiss against her forehead before catching her mouth with one quick kiss. There was something hesitant and vulnerable about the gesture and that made her ache a little bit inside. “I love you,” he whispered in a voice like a question, seeking out her eyes with his own. 

 

She met his eyes and smiled deeper, as if she could infuse her words with sincerity. “I love you, too.” 

 

When he kissed her again, she let him, trying to make herself feel that depth of emotion that was there when they first got together at the end of the War. The tender brush of lips became open mouths panting together, his tongue seeking out her own. His hand slipped beneath the tee she had worn to bed and kneaded her breast as he rolled on top of her. 

 

This time, she opened her legs for him and willed herself to want this too. 

 

Afterward, while Ron snored contentedly, Hermione curled up beneath the sheets and thought about the strange conversation she had had with her professor at the bar. Ron had said that Professor Snape probably wanted her. Well, she had known that, hadn’t she? Her dreams had certainly implied it, anyway. And did she really think they were only dreams? But to hear Ron say it, as if it were so obvious, that  _ of course _ he would want her… it sent a shiver down her spine. 

 

Did she want him to want her? She had to admit, the thought of those sharp eyes flickering over her form made her feel… something.  _ Seen _ , perhaps? Beautiful? For so many years she had wanted her professor’s approval. But for him to want her sexually? She shook her head. Perhaps it would be better not to think about that. 

 

...

 

She was straddling his lap, her bare thighs against the thick wool of his trousers. His arms were wrapped around her, one squeezing her arse and the other pulling her tight against him so that her bare breasts were squashed against his hot, bare chest. Her mouth was pressed against his mouth, their lips overlapping gently, their tongues slowly teasing one another; and a fire burned in her core. She wanted him more than she could ever remember wanting anything. For a moment, she just kissed him with abandon, rubbing herself against his naked cock, where it was pressed between them. Her hand twisted in his hair. 

 

She gasped against his mouth at the realization. 

 

“ _ Ohhhh _ yes,” he murmured in a voice hoarse with arousal, thrusting hard against her as he squeezed her arse. The friction of his flesh against hers sent a spark of longing through her even as she lurched away from him, falling off his lap. She caught a glimpse of his cock peeking out of his trousers--big and hard and pink at the tip--before he stuffed it away from her view, cursing beneath his breath. “Not  _ now _ ,” he groaned. 

 

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, her shock quickly morphing into anger. “I’m sorry, is this a bad  _ time for you!? _ ”

 

His eyes went wide a second before his face smoothed out into an expressionless mask. “Clearly,” he murmured, his lip twitching at the corner. 

 

“I’m  _ so sorry  _ for you!” she snapped, snatching her robes off the floor and holding them up to herself as she struggled to her feet. 

 

He sighed wearily. “Do you resent me for being disappointed?” 

 

“No I just… I’m  _ sick _ of being treated like… I mean…” she glanced around for something to say, thinking about Ron and their boring day and how she’d given in to him again and how she wasn’t supposed to want the professor, but it had been  _ years  _ since she’d felt anything like she’d felt just moments ago. And some part of her was angry with him for the things he’d said at the bar that night. And before she knew it, tears had sprung unbidden to her eyes. “I  _ mean _ ,” she repeated, scowling at him through the tears, “I’m more than just… your  _ bedfellow! _ ”

 

His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in surprise. He pushed himself up from the sofa, wincing a little as he unbent his back. “Of course you are, Hermione,” he said, “It was a foolish thing I said to you that night.” 

 

His hands connected with her bare upper arms and she wrenched away from him. “Don’t,” she warned, brushing at her eyes with one hand while the other held her robes against her breasts. “Turn around would you, for Merlin’s sake, let me put these on.” 

 

He did as she said, even covering his eyes with his hands while she struggled with the slippery fabric. “I only said… what I said…” he continued, confessing to the corner of the room, “because you made me feel so small. You looked so beautiful in those dark blue robes and your cheeks were pink and your lips were swollen and rosy. When you came over to sit beside me… it made me nervous. And that made me angry at myself because you had been my student and just a young girl. So when you let it slip that you thought me just an old, unwanted bachelor… I… I… wanted to change your mind.” 

 

Hermione was torn between glaring at his back and wrapping her arms around him. How was she supposed to know what to think? “You can turn around now,” she murmured, not quite looking at him when he did. She took a seat on the sofa and he lowered himself hesitantly down at the other end. “So,” she began again, a thousand ideas competing for attention in her mind, “you didn’t mean it? About those other witches?” 

 

He sighed. “Well, there was some truth to that. Of course it never started that way,” he hurried to assure her, rubbing the knees of his trousers absently, “a man infatuated with a beautiful woman rarely sees far enough to judge compatibility.” His eyes flickered to her face, seeming to consider. “And a lonely person is wont to choose comfort, rather than take the gamble that something better might one day come along.” 

 

Hermione woke with a gasp and rolled over to wrap an arm around Ron. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out everything Snape had said as tears spilled across her cheek. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sunlight was streaming through the window by the time Ron finally woke up. Hermione had been staring at the ceiling for hours. Nothing she had done had helped her get back to sleep. Part of her didn’t even  _ want _ to, for fear of her dreams. 

 

Ron yawned, his mouth gaping grotesquely, pouring foul breath across the side of Hermione’s face. “Morning,” he whispered, draping an arm across her waist and kissing her shoulder. “Sorry about last night.” 

 

She turned to look at him then. “What?”

 

Ron looked sheepish. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you. I was drunk. I know that’s no excuse. I mean bloody hell I was jealous of  _ Snape _ , wasn’t I?” He gave a short laugh at that and grinned up at her. “It’s just hard, you know,” he continued when she didn’t respond. “You leaving and all. Like… that chapter of our life is over now and… I dunno, I guess we’ve gotta figure out what’s next.” 

 

Hermione smiled at him, swallowing the lump in her throat and brushing aside all errant thoughts on the subject. She didn’t want to think about the next chapter right now. She wanted to hold onto this one. 

 

They breakfasted in the Great Hall, taking seats at the Gryffindor table for old times’ sake. It was nostalgic in a bittersweet way, joy warming Hermione’s heart even as dread tightened in the pit of her stomach. 

 

Afterwards, Ron announced that he ought to get back early and work on his homework. Hermione teased him about this, but reluctantly agreed. She offered to walk him to Hogsmeade, but he shook his head. “That’s not necessary,” he told her, kissing her sweetly and bidding her goodbye. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, sounding so grown up. Hermione shook her head, ridding herself of the worries that kept wanting to intrude. She knew what she had to do. 

 

Madame Pomfrey (“Oh, it’s Poppy, now, dear. We’re colleagues, now, aren’t we?”) was bustling about the Hospital Wing when Hermione appeared. “What can I help you with…  _ Professor _ ?” the elderly witch asked with a wink. 

 

“I was, er, wondering if I could have some Dreamless Sleep. I’ve, er, been having some, er, anxious dreams.” 

 

“Oh, of course!” said Madame--Poppy. “Just a moment, dear.” She flitted into her office and returned with three small purple vials. “That’s all I’ve got left, I’m afraid. I’ll have to ask Severus to make some more before the start of Term. Merlin knows we’ll need it before too long.” She gave Hermione a wry smile at that and handed over the little vials. 

 

Hermione slept wonderfully that night. Her head hit the pillow and the next thing she knew she was waking up to the early morning sunlight, feeling refreshed and completely rested. It was  _ marvellous. _

 

The castle was a flurry of activity today, all of the professors getting ready for the students’ arrival that very night. Hermione, herself, hadn’t realized how much she still had to get done. She was so preoccupied dressing her classroom and her office to give off the right impression that she was very nearly late to the Start of Term Feast. 

 

Snape raised an eyebrow at her when she slipped into her seat, panting, her face flushed from practically running down to the Great Hall. It suddenly occurred to Hermione that she hadn’t seen the man since Saturday night, and with that revelation came a sudden vision of him reclined on a sofa, his eyes clouded with arousal and his hard cock emerging proud and pink from the fly of his thick wool trousers. 

 

Hermione blushed and looked away. 

 

“Nervous,  _ Hermione _ ?” he asked her, a smirk in his voice. 

 

Hermione’s eyes jumped to his in defiance and she bristled at the malicious glint in his eyes, even as she remembered his confession in her dream the other night.  _ “You made me feel so small,”  _ he had said. “ _ You looked so beautiful in those dark blue robes and your cheeks were pink and your lips were swollen and rosy. When you came over to sit beside me… it made me nervous.”  _

 

Almost unconsciously, Hermione bit her lip. Something like triumph or excitement rose up within her to see his eyes flick down to it. He caught himself so quickly that she might have imagined the glance. But she knew he had noticed and that made a strange thrill swell within her. “Not at all…  _ Severus _ ,” she said, smirking playfully at him. “Are you?” 

 

He gave her a suspicious frown and Hermione could have smacked herself in the forehead. She had been trying for snarky colleague, but now felt she might have slipped into the territory of flirtatious younger witch. “Hardly,” he scoffed and turned away from her. 

 

When the students began to filter into the Hall, Hermione’s stomach gave a little flip. Dozens and then hundreds of pairs of eyes were flitting up to the Head table, to  _ her _ . Whispers skittered through the room beneath the excited chatter. 

 

Hagrid bumped an elbow into her shoulder, conspiratorially, nearly knocking her out of her chair. “They’ll be talkin’ about  _ you _ o’course,” he said. “Famous war hero and all.”

 

Hermione gulped down the anxious lump in her throat and glanced up at Snape in time to see his wry smirk. 

 

The Hall settled down as the new batch of First Years was led up to the front and the old Sorting Hat placed on a stool. Nostalgia blossomed in Hermione’s chest, so sudden and surprising that tears threatened behind her eyes. How many times had they watched the new students Sorted? And now she was watching for the first time from a new angle. These were her charges. They were beginning at Hogwarts the same as her. The first batch never to have Professor Flitwick teach them Charms. She only hoped she could live up to his standards. 

 

After the Sorting, Minerva McGonagall stood up and addressed the Hall from the same place Albus Dumbledore had done so many times before. At that, Hermione’s eyes really did fill with tears. It seemed so strange that life should go on after everything that had happened; that a new normal would be established at Hogwarts School; a normal that did not include the old headmaster with his half-moon spectacles and twinkling eyes. 

 

None of the other professors seemed the least bit moved by McGonagall’s matter-of-fact speech about the beginning of term. Of course, they had had several years of this new normal. Neville, on the other hand, was looking quite as shiny-eyed as Hermione. She felt a surge of affection for her old classmate and determined to have a proper pint with him sometime soon. 

 

Minerva glanced back at Hermione with a proud smile, prompting the younger witch to return her attention to the Headmistress’s words. “Many of you already know or will have surmised that Professor Flitwick has officially retired. Please welcome your new Charms professor, Hermione Granger.” Hermione stood awkwardly as the Hall filled with applause. How many times had she dreamed of this moment? How many times had she imagined what it would be like to stand up here, at the top of the Hall, to see so many young faces looking up at her. To know that she was going to make a difference in their lives. It was as surreal and wonderful as she could have hoped. When at last she took her seat again, she couldn’t help but notice the excited whispers of the restless crowd. It may have been her imagination, but they seemed to be rooting for her.

 

That night, Hermione lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. In her mind’s eye, she saw the Hall full of students cheering for her. It felt like the culmination of everything she had ever worked for, but she knew it was only the beginning. Finally, eventually, after she had savoured the excitement so long that weariness had begun to settle over her, the new Charms Professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry downed a vial of Dreamless Sleep. 

 

Hermione woke on Tuesday morning feeling refreshed, but rather anxious. She was tempted to skip breakfast in order to prepare more for her classes, but decided it was imperative she make an appearance on her first day. Hagrid was grinning broadly when she took her seat at the Head Table, but Snape looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. 

 

“Mornin’ Hermione!” said Hagrid, beaming at her. 

 

“Good morning Hagrid,” she replied in a sing-song voice. Nerves were racing up and down her limbs like electricity in her blood. She turned to Professor Snape and hesitated. “Good morning, Severus.” 

 

“I don’t believe,” he began, his deep timbre marred by the roughness of sleep, “that I have given you leave to address me in such informal terms.” 

 

Hermione was shocked. Thinking back, she supposed he hadn’t actually returned the gesture when she’d asked him to use her first name. Still, it was a silly thing for him to get upset about. She blinked up at him, waiting for him to meet her eye. When he only continued to pick at his breakfast, staring out across the hall, she said, “Good morning,  _ Professor Snape, _ ” and turned back to her own plate, trying hard not to show him how annoyed she was. 

 

Her first class was with Seventh Year Ravenclaws and Slytherins and Hermione was stunned to realize that these students had been First Years when she herself had been in her sixth year at Hogwarts. Somehow, she hadn’t made that connection until now, looking out across the room at some vaguely familiar faces. A couple of them were taller, older versions of students she had disciplined back when she had been a Prefect. It was surreal. 

 

She gave them a long speech about the importance of honing a talent for Charms work and the necessity of studying hard for their NEWTS at the end of the term, which went over flawlessly with the quiet, well-behaved class. So well, in fact, that she was completely unprepared for her second class of the day: Fifth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins. 

 

The Gryffindors kept raising their hands to ask personal questions about the War and Harry Potter, while the Slytherins kept passing notes and whispering behind their hands, snickering wickedly every time a Gryffindor spoke up. Hermione was already finding it difficult to hold onto her promise to herself that she would treat every student the same, regardless of House. 

 

She was exhausted by the time she made it down to the Great Hall for lunch. “Well?” said Snape with a twisted smirk. “Is it a dream come true?” 

 

Hermione wanted nothing more than to tell him that  _ yes _ it was exactly what she had hoped and dreamed it would be, but anyway it was far too soon to say. She gave him a non-commital shrug and filled her plate a little more than usual. She was starving. 

 

The rest of the classes were just as taxing on her nerves and she hadn’t even started them on any Charms yet. So far, all she’d done was lecture. It did not bode well that by the end of the day she was so ready to collapse into bed that she nearly didn’t bother going down to supper. She was too hungry to avoid it, however. All that teaching seemed to have worked up an appetite. 

 

“There ya are, ‘Ermione!” cried Hagrid when she slipped into her seat at the Head Table. “So, how was it? Yer first day as a professor!” 

 

Hermione sighed. “Not bad. A bit overwhelming at times, but nothing I can’t handle.” Severus Snape snorted disbelievingly and Hermione turned to glare at him. “Did you have something to add,  _ Professor _ ?” 

 

He smirked, not bothering to look at her. “Your hair appears to be advertising your distress, Miss Granger.” 

 

Hermione flushed, her hands jumping automatically to her hair in an attempt to get it under control. Belatedly, she decided she shouldn’t care so much what  _ he _ thought of her hair. He was her nasty old Potions professor, not the lazily smiling man stretched out naked in her dreams.  She let her hands drop with a shrug. “Well, it was only my first day,” she told him, her chin in the air. 

 

Ron, Harry, and Ginny were all excited to hear about her first day as a Hogwarts professor, when she Flooed them that night. She regaled them with stories of the various challenges she had overcome: the adoring Gryffindors wanting to know more about  _ her _ than about her class, having to tell some Slytherins off for zooming spit-wads around the classroom when she wasn’t looking, and even confiscating some Weasleys Wizard Wheezes (“Oh no, you didn’t!” cried Ron). 

 

Eventually, Harry and Ginny went up to bed, leaving Ron to continue chatting with his girlfriend. Suddenly, neither of them had anything to say. “Listen,” said Ron, at last, “I’ll be working late tomorrow. They’re taking us out to see what it’s like to work at night.” 

 

“Oh, that’s alright. Just Floo me when you get home. I’ll be up, I promise.”

 

“Oh, yeah, alright,” said Ron. “Well, anyway, I hope you have a better day tomorrow.”

 

Hermione smirked at him. “Not likely. I’ve got Seventh Year Gryffindors and Slytherins.” 

 

They exchanged a knowing look and laughed. “Well,” said Ron, after an awkwardly lengthening silence, “good luck with that, then.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“I’ll… er… talk to you tomorrow.” 

 

“Alright. Goodnight.”

 

“Night.” 

 

And with that, Hermione pulled out of the Floo and sat back on her heels. She felt… funny, somehow, as if… something wasn’t quite right. 

 

Tuesday was even worse. The students seemed to be testing her, pushing her to see how she reacted to their misbehaviour. Over and over she had to tell her students to be quiet in her class, but still they continued to whisper behind her back. But she was loathe to take House Points. She remembered how it had felt to have points deducted, even when it was earned. And after all, it was only the beginning of the term. 

 

The Seventh Year Gryffindors and Slytherins were the most difficult class so far. The Gryffindors seemed to be taunting the Slytherins as if Hermione was just one of their own and the Slytherins, in turn, made rude remarks about her behind their hands, just loud enough for her to hear. She was a muggle-born, they remembered, and only just barely older than they were. Was Hogwarts so hard-pressed to find a teacher for them nowadays that they would stoop so low? Or was Minerva McGonagall playing favourites? Everyone knew she had a blind spot when it came to Harry Potter and his friends. 

 

Hermione ignored their comments, warning them by name to be quiet, but pretending she hadn’t heard the words they had said. But then, toward the end of class, a tall handsome Slytherin named Tavin Zabini (and he was  _ undoubtedly _ related to Blaise Zabini, with that perfect golden skin and striking cheekbones) spoke up in her defense. 

 

“Alright, alright,” he said, his eyes dancing with wickedness between innocent smiles, “Professor Granger told us to be quiet.” 

 

Hermione was taken aback, but only hesitated a moment before saying “Yes, thank you Mister Zabini.” She was about to continue her lecture about the importance of their NEWTS in determining their future careers, but he interrupted her again. 

 

“It’s no problem at all, Professor Granger,” he said in a smooth voice, barely concealing his smirk. “You can count on me. I’ll keep those miserable wretches in line for you.” There was a bout of snickering from the Slytherins and a couple of balls of parchment tossed at Tavin Zabini’s head, but he just smiled innocently up at her like a perfect angel. 

 

When she dismissed the class at the end of the hour, Zabini approached her desk and leaned across it, resting his hands on the smooth surface. “They’re trouble, the lot of them,” he told her with a wink, “but don’t worry. I’ll make sure they listen to you next time.” 

 

Hermione gave him a wry glance, conveying her impatience with his little routine. “That’s very… thoughtful of you,” she told him in a dry voice. 

 

“Oh it’s no trouble,” he told her, glancing around at his friends waiting for him by the door. “And if you need any advice,” he winked at her, “I’d be happy to give you a few tips, sometime. Maybe… over coffee.” 

 

Hermione flushed, both at his nerve and at his insinuation. Anger bubbled just below the surface, but she could not allow herself to react the way she would have as a student here. “I think I’ll manage well enough, Mister Zabini,” she said, coldly. “You had better hurry, or you’ll miss your next class.” 

 

“Oh yes, of course,” he replied, pretending to be very worried about that as he backed away to rejoin his friends. “Wouldn’t want that,” he finished, winking at her as he slipped out of the room. Peals of laughter echoed in the corridor and Hermione blotted ink in the middle of her lesson plan. She found that she was gritting her teeth in frustration and forced herself to calm down. 

 

Hermione was famished by the time she reached the Great Hall that night for supper. Snape grinned nastily at her. “Pretty awful day, then,” he said, with a glance at her hair. 

 

She wanted more than anything to berate him about his Slytherins, but she held her tongue, contenting herself with one withering glare in his direction before taking her seat. 

 

“The students have already decided you aren’t a threat,” he told her. She ignored him, choosing instead to spend her energy shoveling potatoes into her mouth. He watched her with mild disapproval. “Did you think they would welcome you like a hero?” he asked, the taunt in his voice as clear as his enjoyment of her suffering. “Did you think it would be like tutoring Potter and that imbecile boyfriend of yours?” 

 

“Oh shove off, Snape,” Hermione snapped, surprising even herself. He went very still, his eyes widened slightly. But she wasn’t done. “I hardly,” she found herself saying, hesitating slightly then pushing on through, “think… I need to be taking  _ teaching _ advice… from  _ you _ .” 

 

His expression grew cold at that and she turned away, returning her attention to her potatoes. Suddenly, he leaned in a little closer, so that she could feel his breath on the side of her face. Her stomach leapt up into her throat and her body hummed with tense awareness of his proximity to her. He was so close that she could smell him and he smelled just like her dreams. Flashes from those dreams jumped to the forefront of her mind, making it hard to concentrate on his words. “Say what you will about my policies, Miss Granger,” he was whispering in an angry voice, “but there was never any doubt who was in control in my class. You may have dealt with your share of challenges in the past, but a school full of adolescent witches and wizards is a monster unto itself. It is  _ vital _ that you gain their respect before you completely lose control.” 

 

That night, Hermione sat up, waiting for Ron to Floo. For a while, she attempted to go over her lesson plans, but soon her concentration wavered. Her eyes kept flickering between the clock, the Floo, and the open door of her bedroom, beckoning her to come enjoy her dreamless sleep. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning before she finally gave up on Ron and climbed into bed, downing her potion in one eager gulp. 

 

Wednesday was the worst so far. The students all seemed to have made up their minds about her. And she hated to think that Snape might have been right. The Gryffindors seemed to consider her more of a friend than a teacher, pushing their luck that she wouldn’t take points from them. The Ravenclaws were watching her with sharp eyes, daring her to live up to Professor Flitwick’s example, but obviously doubtful that she could. The Hufflepuffs were obedient enough, but their encouraging smiles came across more patronizing than anything else. And the Slytherins… behaved  _ exactly _ the way she should have expected them to. 

 

She really did skip dinner this time and was halfway back to her chambers when she remembered that she needed more Dreamless Sleep. But Poppy Pomfrey wasn’t in the hospital wing when Hermione arrived. She must have been down in the Great Hall, with the others. Hermione nearly pulled out her hair at this realization, but plopped down onto one of the beds and focused on her breathing. The last thing she needed right now was a panic attack. 

 

When Poppy finally did arrive, it was with bad news. “Oh, I’m afraid Severus hasn’t brought me any more, yet,” she said. 

 

“ _What?_ ” Hermione couldn’t hide her panic. _Snape!_ _Again!_ Why was he the root of all her troubles? That man was the absolute worst thing that had happened to her since… “Why is he even in charge of making potions?” she whined. “I thought he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts…” 

 

“Oh, he is!” cried Poppy. “But the current Potions professor, Terrence Tollock is an older man with poor eyesight and believe you me Severus is a much finer potioneer.” 

 

The sound of a throat being cleared drew the witches’ attention to the open doorway, where Severus Snape himself was standing, lazily levitating a large clear case full of multi-colored vials. 

 

“Oh, Severus! Excellent timing!” said Poppy, hurrying toward him and taking the case off his hands with her own raised wand. “Let me just get these situated, Hermione, dear.” And she bustled into her office with the case in tow. 

 

When Snape didn’t immediately go, Hermione turned away from him. The last thing she wanted was any more opinions from the impossible man. 

 

“Little early in the term to be popping potions, don’t you think, Miss Granger?” 

 

Hermione gave the man a nasty glare. How she could  _ ever _ have thought that those dreams were anything more than elaborate hallucinations… the man was positively  _ wicked! _

 

She had just opened her mouth to retort when Poppy emerged and handed her three purple vials. “There you go, dear. I’ll have more for you here when you’re ready for it.” 

 

Hermione wished she could ask for more right now, knowing that she would be needing it again in just three short days, but she heeded the other woman’s words with a little nod. “Thank you.” 

 

Snape stepped aside to let her pass, but she had hardly made it halfway down the short corridor before he called after her. “Miss Granger.” He was sweeping toward her with a strange reluctance to his normally confident stride. 

 

“ _ What? _ ” she snapped. “Got any more  _ helpful _ opinions for me?” 

 

He hesitated, standing a little closer than was comfortable so that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “I just...” he began, a note of uncertainty in his voice, “You should know. Dreamless Sleep…can be…  _ dangerous _ if taken too often. The… effects can begin to wear off and… it’s quite… addictive. You really… if you are taking it with any sort of… regularity… you should… skip a day now and then. Every three or four days... or so.” He seemed genuinely concerned and that took Hermione completely off her guard.  _ Here _ was the man she had dreamed about. The man who had held her close and kissed her lips and spoken to her in such a vulnerable way. 

 

“I can’t…” she confessed in a worried voice. 

 

“You’ll have to try. It is a  _ terrible _ addiction.” He looked as if he were about to elaborate, but then finished instead by simply saying, “Trust me.” 

 

Hermione Flooed Grimmauld Place as soon as she got back to her rooms, but Harry and Ginny were the only ones there. They were happy to see her, of course, but also confused. “Ron’s working late again,” said Ginny. “Didn’t he tell you? He said not to wait up.” 

 

But she couldn’t have waited for Ron if she had tried. She could hardly manage the energy to be annoyed with him. Exhaustion was dragging her down so heavily that she didn’t bother with pajamas. She just stripped off her teaching robes and climbed between the sheets, deciding at last minute to take Severus Snape’s advice. The last thing she needed, after all, was for Dreamless Sleep to lose its effect. 

 

Even without the potion, she was asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow. 

 

...

 

It was dark and lamplight flickered around the room, dulled by the dark wood of the walls like the chatter and drunken laughter bouncing off of them. They were sitting at the end of the bar at The Three Broomsticks, sipping tall mugs of golden ale. Their bodies were angled toward each other and their knees pressed together. Warmth tingled in her blood and she found herself smiling giddily, soothed by the mellow buzz of alcohol. 

 

He was speaking in a quiet voice, the smooth timbre of his words resonating deep inside her. “You would think I’d be relieved. That… a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. And in some ways, that is true. But I still dream about it. I still… remember. I doubt I’ll ever forget.” 

 

She met his eyes, watching him recognise her shock. He pulled away a little. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t have to tell him what was happening. 

 

“Well. I suppose it’s never a good time to dream yourself into a future you didn’t expect.” 

 

“I’m still not convinced…” she trailed off, hearing the untruth for what it was. 

 

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. “You know, I expected it to be a shock, but I had no idea how painful…” he winced, seeming to remember himself. “It’s strange. To think of you as the girl you were before…” 

 

“I… It’s not… don’t take it…”

 

He met her eye and gave a little half-smile, but she could see the hurt. Regret burned inside her, like anger. “Well it’s not like you’re a picnic, you know,” she snapped. “You’ve been a real git to me, in the real world. I mean… in…  _ now _ .”

 

He smirked at her, his eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. It was an unfamiliar expression on his face and it kindled a strange tingling happiness in the cavity of her chest. “A fair point,” he murmured in that velvety voice of his. 

 

She smiled at him. “But this,” she said, gesturing to him, “it’s not… unpleasant.” She froze, her eyes going wide as she kicked herself for that sudden, strange confession. And what exactly did she mean? Certainly not that she expected this to happen in real life; or that it was in any way comparable to what she had with Ron… 

 

She gasped. “I… I need some air,” she breathed, slipping off her stool and stumbling a little as she made her way to the door. The cool evening breeze whipped her face, refreshing her, and the starlit night became the ceiling of her bedroom as she lurched awake. 

 

…

_ PLEASE REVIEW :D  _


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione did not miss the wary way Snape’s eyes flicked over her exhausted form when she arrived late to breakfast. 

 

“Morning,” she grumbled to no one in particular. 

 

“Mornin’!” growled Hagrid, beaming at her. His face fell when he caught her eye. “Blimey, Hermione, are you alrigh’?” 

 

“What? Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

 

Snape snorted lightly. “Because you look like death.” 

 

Hermione turned to him, giving him her most scathing glare. 

 

In response, he merely smirked at her. “I take it you took my advice, then?” 

 

She had to think about what his advice had been. It was hard to concentrate when all she could think was how different his familiar smirk had looked in her dream last night. “Oh, er… yes,” she said, when she remembered that it was his fault she hadn’t taken Dreamless Sleep. “Thanks,” she said drily, narrowing her eyes at him. 

 

He chuckled, turning back to his breakfast and Hermione ignored how much she liked the way he laughed.  _ Ridiculous! _ She had settled down into her chair and filled a plate when he spoke again, concern edging into his still-laughing voice. “You will acclimate to it, eventually. You only need to learn to  _ discipline _ the brats.” 

 

“What?” she said, confused until she realized that he thought stress was the reason for her lack of sleep. “Oh... yes. It’s easier said than done,” she confessed, not looking at him. 

 

“I doubt it. I seem to recall that you tended to be the voice of reason in your own little clique here at Hogwarts. Where is the girl who had the nerve to reprimand the Weasley twins?” 

 

Hermione’s brow furrowed. She  _ had _ stood up to the twins and even her closest friends, when she was a prefect. Had something changed? Had she lost her nerve? She looked over to see him studying her curiously. She nodded at him. “You know, I think you might be right.” 

 

He smirked at her again and she felt a kind of nervous energy rising up inside herself. Was it his gaze that caused that reaction? She suddenly felt like she was sitting too close to the man; suddenly too aware that she had seen him unclothed. It occurred to her that he still had no idea of the intimacies they had shared, nor the effect his dark eyes might have upon her now. 

 

She dismissed the emotion as nothing but anxiety about the day ahead. 

 

The Seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins did not bother to stop chattering or even sit down when she entered the room. She had made it up to the top of the class and even told them once to take their seats, yet still they lingered, unconcerned, as if they hadn’t even heard her. 

 

Heat rose in Hermione’s cheeks as she considered what to do. She didn’t want to be the sort of teacher who yelled at her class, but how else was she supposed to get their attention? It was Ron’s words that came to her then:  _ “Are you a witch or not?”  _ She smirked then shook her head, the humor of it quickly overshadowed by a feeling of loss. Brushing that thought away, she withdrew her wand. 

 

The silence was immediate and complete. For a moment, the students seemed confused. Then Professor Granger cleared her throat and they seemed to notice her there at last. 

 

“That’s better,” she began, walking around her desk in a slow deliberate fashion that she knew she had learned from Snape. “Now… I know you are all sensing the end of your time here at Hogwarts and with that comes a certain… casual dismissal of the rules that have bound you for so long. But now… is not the time to act out.  _ Now _ … is the time to buckle down. Your NEWTS will determine how you spend the rest of your life. It is  _ imperative _ that you put forth your best effort now. And  _ I _ am here to help you do it.” She let her eyes rove over the class with a stern expression before giving her wand another casual flick. 

 

“Now,” she began again, returning to her place behind her desk, “I’ve returned your voices, but I hope I won’t be hearing them. You will have plenty of time to talk later and today we are practicing nonverbal Charms.” 

 

There was a bit of moaning about this, but the students soon got into the rhythm of good practice, attempting to turn goblets of vinegar into wine without saying a word. Hermione gave points to the first few students who accomplished this and the mood seemed to lighten at that. 

 

They made it about halfway through the period before the occasional whispers began to get out of hand again and Hermione had to remind the class to stay silent. In all honesty, it wasn’t the end of the world for them to talk amongst themselves. But today was about setting a standard. When that announcement proved inadequate to stop the whispering, Hermione began to call out students by name. Her Gryffindors were scandalized, but the Slytherins seemed to take this as a challenge. 

 

Tavin Zabini, in particular, seemed to have a wicked gleam in his eye. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was trying to get caught. And what else could she do besides call him out? The last thing she needed was a student questioning her authority. 

 

“Mr. Zabini, if I have to ask you again…” she began, giving the boy a stern. 

 

“Oh, so sorry Professor Granger,” he cooed, batting his eyelashes at her to a chorus of snickers. She felt a shiver at the sudden flashback to her own schooldays. “I was only telling Davies, here, how beautiful you are when you’re cross.”

 

Hermione flushed. “Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Zabini,” she snapped, all humor gone from her now. There was a flurry of movement as the class reacted with surprise to her first points taken. Zabini’s eyes flashed and the rest of the Slytherins watched her with cold excitement, as if they could sense her fear. She stood her ground. “And I advise you to keep your mouth shut or it will be detention.” With that last warning, Hermione turned away. 

 

She was hardly two steps back toward her desk when Zabini spoke again, murmuring to his friends in a voice she was clearly intended to hear. “See, she’s just trying to get me alone.” 

 

Hermione didn’t even turn to look at the arrogant boy. She continued to circle her desk and shuffled some papers nonchalantly, speaking up in a bored, disappointed tone. “Tomorrow night, Mr. Zabini. With  _ Mr. Filch. _ ” 

 

The rest of the day was smooth sailing. She seemed to have found her old strength. After all, it didn’t matter if they thought she was strict. Much the better, really. And with this, a certain harmony seemed to click into place. She could do this. She could really thrive here. She’d been practicing for this her whole life. 

 

It was with proud satisfaction that Hermione Granger seated herself at the Head Table that night, her chin held high and a victorious twinkle in her eye. She found herself looking forward to brushing off some snide remarks from Snape. But the man didn’t show. She kept looking around for him, as if he were just running late, but he never put in an appearance. Hermione couldn’t help the twinge of annoyance that kept stabbing at her as she ate her meal. Why should she be angry if he decided to skip supper tonight? It wasn’t as if they had made plans. And anyway, she didn’t need to nurture this strange connection that her cursed dreams had forged (and without her permission, at that). 

 

Her good mood had mostly deteriorated by the time she made it back to her rooms. It was with a start that she realized she ought to Floo Ron. After all, she hadn’t talked to him since Monday night. Guilt rose up inside of her as she crouched before the fireplace. 

 

Harry and Ginny jumped up from the table in the basement kitchen at 12 Grimmauld. They appeared to be having a cuppa, though no steam rose from their mugs and they were deep in conversation. Hermione felt a stab of envy. And something else.  _ Longing? _ Would she and Ron ever find themselves so lost in conversation that they let their tea go cold? 

 

“Hermione!” said Ginny, her eyes wide and her lips stretched with alarmed dismay. “I think Ron’s already gone up to bed.” 

 

“Oh,” said Hermione, “uhhh…”

 

“He’s had a really long week,” said Ginny. “They’ve been working him really hard.”

 

“Yeah, I guess…” Hermione fumbled for something to say, trying not to betray her emotions. “Of course. That’s… fine…” 

 

Harry and Ginny hesitated, then Harry jumped up. “I’ll just go and check,” he said, hurrying off before Hermione could protest. 

 

Ginny watched him go, raising her eyebrows in apparent discomfort as she turned back to the other girl. “So…” she began, awkwardly, “how’s… teaching?” 

 

“Oh, umm… better, actually.”

 

“That’s great!” 

 

“Yeah, I think I just had to remember what it was like to tell people off.” 

 

“Well, that shouldn’t have been too hard for you.”

 

“Yes, exactly!” 

 

They broke into tense laughter, drawing it out a little too long. Then it was silent again. Hermione was about to ask Ginny how things were with her when there was the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Ron appeared, a dressing gown thrown over his checkered pants, looking bleary eyed and scruffy. 

 

“Hi, hey… Hermione,” he said plopping down in front of the fire. “Er… sorry. Must’ve nodded off.” He glanced around at Harry and Ginny who had frozen with matching grimaces on their faces behind him. They jumped back into motion at precisely the same instant, waving goodnight to Hermione and hurrying up the stairs without bothering to put away their dishes. 

 

“Hi,” said Hermione, abacked. “Sorry,” she continued, after a brief, awkward pause. “I didn’t realize…”

 

“No, it’s alright. Training’s been mad this week, that’s all. I’ve hardly slept.” 

 

“Of course,” said Hermione. A silence stretched between them as she sought something,  _ anything _ to say. “I did Floo yesterday,” she said at last. “They said you were out working again.” 

 

“Yeah,” said Ron, stifling a yawn. “It’s been… brutal.” 

 

Hermione bit her lip. “Well I er… I’ve missed you.”

 

At that, he finally smiled. It was a sleepy, goofy grin that was sweet and ridiculous and so totally Ron. “I missed you too,” he said, and he was so sincere that it made Hermione’s chest hurt. 

 

“Are you… working all weekend? Do you want to… visit?” 

 

At that, his face fell and he turned his gaze in thought. “Uhh… maybe did  _ you _ want to visit  _ me _ ? Here? This time?” 

 

“Oh,” said Hermione, taken aback, “I can’t. We’re… the teachers are… not supposed to stay out all night, away from the castle. Except during holidays.”

 

“Oh, er… well…” He scratched his head. 

 

“Well you don’t have to,” Hermione snapped, suddenly angry. If he only knew how much she needed to see him; how much hung in the balance. And here he was shrugging it off as nothing; as an inconvenience. 

 

“Don’t be like that,” he whinged. “I’m just tired. That’s all. And last time we didn’t do a whole lot the whole weekend.” 

 

She wanted to tell him to forget it, to go to bed and they’d just see each other eventually. But part of her felt like that would be a mistake; a nail in the coffin… but she couldn’t think about that. “Please, Ron?” she begged, trying to show her sincerity with her eyes. “It’s been a hard week for me, too. And I miss you.” Somehow, she just knew she couldn’t bear it if he rejected her now. She needed him to reach out to her too. She didn’t trust herself to spend this weekend angry that he hadn’t wanted to visit her. Could their relationship withstand it? She didn’t want to find out. So she lowered her lashes and added “I’ve been so  _ lonely _ .” 

 

His eyes went wide and Hermione felt a surge of mingled arousal and panic at what she was insinuating. “Have you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at her. 

 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Mmmhmmm.” 

 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he practically purred. The interest that had been so lacking was all over his face. 

 

Hermione shook off her annoyance and told herself to have fun with this. She was a sexy young woman in her prime, planning a visit with a lover. She ought to embrace that. “So, are you going to save me from my… loneliness?” 

 

Ron pretended to consider, but his smirk gave him away. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said, grinning at her. 

 

“Okay, good. That’ll be… great.” Hermione told herself to stop nodding and smiled up at Ron. “Meet at the Three Broomsticks? For dinner, perhaps?” 

 

“Oh, er, it’ll have to be after dinner. I’ve already promised I’d meet my class for dinner and we’ve got some important plans to discuss before our exam.” 

 

“Oh… Well… alright, then. After dinner, it is.” 

 

Friday morning, Hermione woke feeling confident and well-rested. The Dreamless Sleep really did make all the difference in the world. 

 

Severus Snape looked terrible. He was hunched over his breakfast, leaning heavily on the table. The lines in his face were deeper than ever. He didn’t make any effort to say anything mean to her when she sat down beside him and gave her only an annoyed grunt in response to her cheerful ‘good morning.’ It was the first time she realized that he also took Dreamless Sleep. That he had followed his own advice last night and gone without. And that he hadn’t slept. She found herself wondering what nightmares still haunted the man who had spied on Lord Voldemort for Albus Dumbledore. 

 

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from teasing him a little. “I take it you took your own advice?” she asked, grinning over at him. 

 

Severus Snape turned his dark eyes on her so slowly that she thought his mind might still be sleeping, but in their depths was such scathing derision that she winced and nearly looked away. “For once... in your life... Granger... try to keep that  _ infamously  _ large mouth of yours…  _ shut _ .” 

 

Hermione was taken aback. Part of her wanted to laugh, but another part registered that it was getting increasingly difficult to judge how familiar she was supposed to be with this man. Would he take her laughter as further insult?  _ Probably. _ It was hard to imagine how she would react to her old professor if she hadn’t spent such intimate moments with him in her dreams.  _ Probably, I wouldn’t speak to him at all _ , she realized. So she turned away, letting her thoughts drift back to curiosity. What did the ex-Death Eater dream about that put him in such a foul mood? 

 

That thought stayed with her for the rest of the day, pricking at her whenever she had a moment. And for the first time, she did have free moments for idle thought. In fact, a lot of the pressure of the last few days had dissipated overnight. Her students already seemed to look at her with a different respect. Apparently, word had circulated about her change in attitude and today’s classes needed far less telling off than the ones she’d seen yesterday. 

 

With that burden lifted from her shoulders, she began to enjoy her job. In a way, she was reliving the magic of learning these Charms in the first place, and in a way she was fitting into a role that felt made for her. As perfect as a glove. It was as if she had been preparing for this her entire life. Or, perhaps, that she had never fully been able to be herself until now. Finally, there was no one around to accuse her of being a know-it-all. 

 

Except of course… 

 

Severus Snape was not at dinner. Again. And Hermione kicked herself for the surge of disappointment that she felt. Maybe what she needed was just a friend. She made a mental note to spend more time with Neville. He was a safe, platonic friend whom she could trust and talk to without worry about what that attachment might entail.  _ Not _ that she was worried that anything would really develop between her and Snape. 

 

*****

 

There was a chill in the air when Hermione made her way to the Three Broomsticks after dinner. She wasn’t sure when Ron would be arriving, but wanted to be there when he did. And maybe it would calm her nerves a bit to have a pint before he got there. 

 

Filius Flitwick was sitting at the far end of the bar when Hermione pushed through the door into the nearly empty pub. He caught her eye and waved her over, beaming. 

 

“Professor Granger!” he called to her, laughing merrily as she took the seat beside his. “How has it been, then? Have you had a good first week?” 

 

“Not bad,” she said, letting herself enjoy the sense of relief that she was able to say that. “They are getting used to me. I have big shoes to fill,” she added, nodding to him. When he laughed harder, she blushed and hurried on. “I hope I make an adequate replacement.”

 

“Oh, I have no doubt that you will,” he said kindly. “You always were the most gifted student Hogwarts had seen in many years.”

 

“Well,” she confessed, looking down at the counter. “It’s the  _ teaching _ part I’m having trouble with.” 

 

“Nonsense!” Filius squeaked. But before he could say anything else, Madam Rosmerta appeared. 

 

“Can I get you anything,  _ Professor? _ ” she asked, smirking at Hermione. 

 

“Oh, I think so,” said Hermione, smiling back. “How about a glass of your famous mead?” 

 

“Excellent choice,” said the barmaid and she went to pour a glass. 

 

“Hermione,” Filius began again in an avuncular tone, “you were a teacher even when you were a student. I have no doubt that, once you’ve gotten acclimated…” he broke off, his eyes flicking over to the door, which had just opened. “Ha! Severus!” he called and Hermione swung around to see Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his cloak billowing behind him. Hermione’s heart gave a little lurch and she could feel heat blossoming on her cheeks as the man nodded to them and swept over. 

 

Snape seated himself on the chair beside Hermione’s. Too close for comfort. His thigh so close to her own that he could easily lean it against hers. She sat up straight, feeling squashed between the two men, though she had not felt that she was sitting too close to Flitwick until now. 

 

“Severus,” cooed Rosmerta, smiling at him in a different way than she had smiled at Hermione. “Fancy seeing you here so early in the term.” 

 

“Good evening, Ros,” said Severus in a deep, suave voice, as if he could take her hand and kiss it with his words alone. “I confess, it has been a very trying first week.” Hermione’s ears burned and she fought to act natural as Ros giggled a little too much and offered the professor a glass of fire whiskey on the rocks. “I’ll take one neat, to start,” he said. 

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Ros cooed, leaning against the bar in such a way that her breasts peaked over the ruffle of her dress, “so it  _ has _ been a rough week.” 

 

“Well,” said Severus, leaning closer to the woman, “the students are no worse than usual, but Poppy has already put me to work brewing potions and my once-peaceful mornings are under attack from a certain… chatterbox.” At that, the man turned to smirk at Hermione and she raised her eyebrows at him, insulted. He laughed. “Come to think of it, let’s have a round of fire whiskey, Ros.  _ Professor Granger _ has had a long first week and I don’t think Filius has ever been so bored in his entire life.” 

 

“Not so!” cried Filius as Rosmerta went to pour them each a measure of the amber liquid. “I’ll have you know, Severus, that I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my freedom.” 

 

Severus laughed. “I don’t doubt it,” he said, accepting a glass from Rosmerta and holding it up as he waited for the others to do the same. “Granger, have you ever tasted fire whiskey?” 

 

Hermione met his eye, forcing herself not to look away from that dark, penetrating gaze. “I have,” she told him, lifting an eyebrow in what she hoped was a mysterious way. He smirked and his eyes glittered which made her stomach flip nervously. 

 

“To the first week, then,” he said, lifting his glass. 

 

“The first week,” echoed Filius and Hermione. 

 

Severus drained his glass easily, and Hermione tried to do the same, but it was such a big mouthful and the liquor burned even more than Muggle whiskey. She ended up choking and coughing violently, clutching at her burning chest and trying to chase the fiery shot with a sip of sweet mead. Her only consolation was the fact that Filius was choking on it, too. 

 

“Oof,” said Flitwick, cringing, “I don’t know how you can prefer that stuff, Severus.” 

 

Snape laughed and thanked Rosmerta, who had brought him a second glass, this time with ice. His eyes followed her curvy form to the other end of the bar, where she tended to a couple of fat wizards with red faces who were laughing heartily about something. “Filius,” he said at last, turning back and leaning forward to speak around Hermione, “you’ll be pleased to hear that your new protege is getting on rather well.” 

 

“Aha!” squeaked Filius, “I knew she was being modest!”

 

Hermione blushed. “I really was having a hard time of it at first. I think a lot of the students still see me as one of their own. But then…  _ someone _ pointed out that I needed to be willing to discipline them.” 

 

Severus smirked at her. “I hear you gave Tavin Zabini detention.” 

 

“Yes, well, he deserved it. What a prat.” It was out before she could stop herself and Hermione turned wide eyes up to judge her colleague’s reaction. It was highly unprofessional of her to talk ill of one of her students like that. 

 

But Severus only burst out laughing. “He can be, can’t he. I’m afraid it runs in the family. Terrible woman, his mother.” 

 

“He can’t be worse than his brother,” murmured Filius in a conspiratorial tone. 

 

Severus leaned closer. “Oh yes he can.” 

 

A pleasant warmth was pulsing inside of Hermione, the combination of the drug in her veins and the proximity of the tall, mysterious wizard who haunted her dreams. She shook her head and took another sip of mead. 

 

They joked about students for a while longer and ordered another round of fire whiskey. It felt so refreshing to be included in this way, as if she were being accepted as a professor. She really was not a student anymore. It was an hour before midnight when Filius bid them goodnight and Hermione began to wonder why Ron was so late. They hadn’t specified an exact time, but he ought to have been out of dinner by now. 

  
  


A silence stretched between them after Filius left and Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable. “Er, I’m just, er, going to run to the loo,” she told him, slipping off her stool. “Can you watch my drink for me?” 

 

“Of course,” he said with an offhand nod. 

 

She grinned, leaning closer. “Not going to slip me anything?” 

 

Severus Snape looked affronted, a strange expression flickering across his serious face. 

 

Hermione’s eyes went wide and her smile slipped. “Sorry,” she hurried to explain, “it was a joke. Not a very funny one…” 

 

He raised an eyebrow at her, but there was a trace of humor in his face and he seemed to have accepted her explanation. “I will be sure to watch your glass for you, madam, but hurry back or I might decide to drink it.” 

 

Hermione grinned at him. She was much dizzier than she had realised now that she was on her feet, and though she tried to walk with a delicate sway in her hips the way Ros did, she nearly stumbled and gave up, her face burning as she hoped he hadn’t seen that. 

 

Her face was pink in the reflection and Hermione knew it was from the drink. But though she did look a little tipsy, she didn’t look half bad. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, a couple of ringlets escaping around the edges of her face. She had chosen Muggle clothes to wear tonight, mostly because Ron preferred her in them. Her jeans hugged the gentle curve of her hips and arse and the burgundy jumper was cut in a low V that showed off her collarbone and the tiniest hint of her breasts beneath it. On impulse, Hermione pulled at the straps of her bra, tightening them with some difficulty until she was happy with the result. It was a little bolder than she was used to, the tops of her breasts now peaking out just a little bit more, but still nothing like the ample swell of Rosmerta’s bare bosom. She hoped Professor Snape wouldn’t know what she had done. 

 

Hermione kept her eyes slightly averted as she walked back to the bar. She was almost certain that she saw his gaze flick over her from out of the corner of her eye. Even the thought made her skin flush and her body tighten with desire. She shook her head, trying not to think such things. It was only that she was lonely and looking forward to Ron’s visit. That was it. She was feeling confident and sexy and the alcohol was making her nerves sensitive and her mind a haze. She wanted to be lost in sensation with a man. 

 

There was alarm in Professor Snape’s gaze when she met his eye and he quickly looked away. A chill washed down Hermione’s spine at the realization that she was probably wearing her emotions on her face. He fidgeted nervously and that only seemed to heighten her arousal. Was she making him anxious? Was she turning him on? A couple of hours ago, she would not have dreamed that she could have any effect over the man. He spoke with such suave self-assurance to the busty Rosmerta. And yet, it thrilled her to remember what he had confessed in his dreams. She did have the power to make this man nervous. And every instinct within her wanted to test the boundaries of that power right now. 

 

“So,” she began as she slid onto her stool, a little more gracefully this time, “did you have this much trouble when you started teaching? You were about my age, were you not?” 

 

Severus cleared his throat lightly, keeping his eyes on his glass. “Yes. I faced many of the same challenges.” He turned to look at her, his eyes trailing down her figure before snapping back up to her face. “Though perhaps,” he added in a tone laden with meaning, “not all of them.” 

 

Hermione could feel herself blushing and thought she understood what he meant, but wanted-- _ needed _ \--him to elaborate. “Like what?” she asked, toying with a loose curl without thinking about what she was doing. 

 

“Well, Zabini, for example. I understand he has made a point of objectifying you, of flirting with you in an effort to demean you.” 

 

Hermione could barely breathe. “Yes, that’s true.” 

 

“Well,” he said, looking her over again, “it was hard enough to be a young professor without that added… attention.” 

 

Hermione laughed. “Oh, I don’t believe that. I bet loads of students had crushes on you.” 

 

“Not right away, no.” 

 

“You mean they liked you more as you got older?” 

 

At that, he looked at her, his dark eyes boring into hers, knowingly. 

 

She blushed. 

 

Something glittered in those deep black eyes and he was about to speak again when the fireplace roared to life behind Hermione and his gaze lifted as his expression went blank. They pulled away from each other, straightening up, and Hermione looked around to see Ron stumbling out of the Floo. 

  
  


“Sorry I’m late,” said Ron, bleary eyed, as he swung his arm around Hermione and gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth. He tasted very strongly of beer. When he broke away, his eyes immediately dipped down to her cleavage. He raised his eyebrows. “You look nice,” he said, sounding surprised. 

 

“Thanks,” said Hermione, heat rising in her face, but this time from embarrassment. 

 

Ron looked over at Severus then leaned in to Hermione’s ear, whispering so loud she thought the whole bar could hear, “Is Snape over here bothering you?” 

 

“No, not at all!” Hermione hurried to assure Ron, glancing apologetically over at her colleague. “A few of us were just having a drink after the first week of classes.” Snape turned away from the couple, looking thoroughly put out. Hermione couldn’t remember ever feeling so embarrassed. 

 

“Oh good. Let’sh ‘ave a pint, then,” Ron slurred, climbing onto Flitwick’s stool. “Oi,” he said, beckoning to Madam Rosmerta, who lifted an eyebrow but approached him all the same, “bring me a pint of your best, and… ‘Mione, d’you need another? Make that two of those, then.” Rosmerta nodded curtly and went to pour their glasses as he turned back to Hermione. “I like this,” he said, poking her breast with his forefinger. Her head snapped around to glare at him, but he just grinned and did it again. “Boop!” 

 

“ _ Ron _ ,” she hissed, glancing up at Severus who was pointedly avoiding looking at them. She was certain he knew exactly what was going on. 

 

“Oh come off it, nobody cares. We could be snogging and no one would even notice.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “We can if you like.” 

 

Rosmerta set two glasses in front of them and Snape cleared his throat. “How much do I owe you, Ros?” He settled up with the barmaid and slipped off his stool, spinning to leave without another word. Hermione’s heart squeezed. 

 

“I missed you,” said Ron, sounding serious all of a sudden. 

 

Hermione sighed. “I missed you too.” 

 

“You look really beautiful tonight.” 

 

She smiled up at him. “Thanks.” 

 

“Now drink up so I can get you home.” 

 

Hermione half-listened to Ron’s chatter about work. Half of her attention was devoted to pushing Severus Snape out of her mind. He was only filling a void, she told herself. She needed someone and he was there. That was all. But now Ron was here and they had romantic plans for this weekend. She had set out candles and even worn her sexiest lacy black bra and the knickers that matched. She and her boyfriend were going to have a sexy, romantic night and she wasn’t going to let some wicked fortune-teller ruin her love life like that.

 

They were stumbling drunk when they got back to Hermione’s rooms. That fire whiskey really had hit her a lot harder than she had expected and that last beer had been entirely too much. Regardless, she laughed with Ron as they stumbled into her bedroom, him taking off his clothes the whole way there. 

 

“No fair,” he told her, grinning. “I’m practically naked and you’re still fully dressed.” 

 

Hermione bit her lip, laughing at herself even as she began her own version of a drunken striptease. She pulled off her sweater and jeans then did a little half-turn to show off her sexy lingerie. 

 

“Oh yeah,” he said, stepping toward her and reaching out to hold her breasts, squeezing them in his hands. “Let me see those,” he said, stepping back to indicate her knickers. Hermione turned around for him, sheepishly. He stepped up behind her, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her back against him so that his cock pressed hard against her bum. His hands came up to squeeze her breasts and he moaned. “I like that,” he told her. “Here, lean against the bed.” 

 

Hermione did as he asked, her heart pounding and anxiety beginning to peak out from behind the veil of drunkenness. “Like this?” she asked him, trying to look sexy. 

 

“Oh yes,” he said. Then he was pulling down her knickers, his movements clumsy and eager as he stepped behind her and pushed her legs apart. She could feel him pushing his cock against her, and she tensed up, trying to lose herself in this, trying to hold on to her arousal. 

 

“Oh  _ Merlin _ , Hermione, you’re  _ so wet! _ ” he moaned as he pushed himself inside her. It only hurt for a moment but then he was hammering into her and she was so sensitive and she felt a little… used. “Oh  _ fuck! _ ” he hissed, clearly in ecstasy, completely oblivious to her discomfort. His thrusts only got harder and faster and all of her focus was on maintaining that position as the heels of her hands began to ache and her calves were sore from keeping her feet from sliding and he was thrusting so hard that it was starting to hurt, and not in a good way. 

 

“Ow, okay, that’s a little rough,” she began, but then he was crying out and she could feel him coming inside of her, the hot fluid already spilling out with his last lingering thrusts. 

 

He pulled out of her and picked up her jumped from the floor, cleaning himself off with it before collapsing onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and panting hard. Hermione’s smile was more like a grimace as she hurried to the bathroom, his seed trickling down her leg. She freshened up and rolled her eyes at the mirror, wishing she could just be open with Ron. Wishing she could tell him what was on her mind. But the truth was too hard to talk about. The truth was something she didn’t want to face. 

 

When she climbed back into bed, Ron had settled himself under the covers. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her right behind the ear. “Mmm that was so hot,” he told her. And she didn’t have the heart to argue with him right now. Tomorrow, maybe they could talk about working up to that sort of thing, maybe starting a little bit slower. Something needed to change, that much was clear. But she didn’t know how to ask for it. 

 

*****

 

He woke her with kisses on the back of her neck. His body was curled around her, his naked skin hot against her own, and her face was half buried in the pillow. One of his hands came up to lazily cup her breast, rolling it in his palm and gently pinching her hardening nipple. She tensed at the realization that he wanted her and at the sudden concern over whether she should let him or push him away. But when he made no move to do anything further, she began to relax and to enjoy his ministrations. There was no plea in the way he touched her; no demand. He planted lingering kisses against her neck and shoulder, and toyed with her breast in his palm as if he were merely enjoying the feel of it.  _ Enjoying _ . Yes, that was exactly what he was doing. He was savouring her. And it had been so long since she had been savoured this way that she let out a little sigh and arched her back against him. 

 

His hand withdrew to glide in a slow caress down the length of her side, returning to splay his fingers across her stomach, then dipping down again to give her hip an appreciative squeeze. He rubbed that savouring hand up and down along the silken skin of her bare thigh in a gesture that was patient and lingering, despite the stiff erection pressing against the back of her thigh. 

 

She didn’t fake the moan that arose as he gave the skin at her neck a playful nip. She felt his cock throb against her and an ache answered in her core. Then he was sliding his fingers between her thighs, finding the sensitive nub hidden there and rubbing slow circles in exactly the right way. Hermione gasped. He had never taken the time to please her like this before, and clearly he must have done some research. The thought made a surge of affection rise in her chest even as heat collected where his fingers teased her. 

 

She began to rock against his hand and he slipped those fingers down between her folds. She was surprised to feel how wet she was and he must have been too if his breathless gasp against her ear was any indication. “ _ Yes _ ,” she whispered, arching her back. “ _ Please _ ,” she moaned. And she opened her legs for him. 

 

He shifted behind her until they melted together and buried his breathless moan in her hair. His fingers left her only long enough to direct his cock to her entrance and press himself inside. They both gasped at the sensation. He felt so big at this angle; the sharp feeling of his cock so deep inside turned from pain to pleasure by her need for him. Then he was rocking slowly against her, patiently, with clear restraint, his fingers still teasing little circles around her now throbbing clit. It felt so  _ good _ , so  _ right _ . The torturously slow and gentle pace was completely at odds with his usual brusk, hurried, nearly violent rhythm. A pleasant pressure was building inside of her and Hermione found herself squirming in his arms, trying to meet his movements in order to amplify them. 

 

“ _ Mmmmmm _ ,” he moaned, his velvety baritone rough with sleep. “Little  _ minx. _ ” 

 

Hermione’s eyes popped open in surprise. She was suddenly very aware that this was not, in fact, Ronald Weasley, but Severus Snape.  _ His _ fingers gently teasing her. _ His _ cock buried between her legs.  _ His _ savouring movements against her bringing her such pleasure. She gasped, her hand leaping to his in panic even as the fire in her body flared with sudden heightened arousal. 

 

“Ohhh  _ yes,  _ Hermione,” he moaned, quickening his pace. “Come for me, love.” He withdrew his hand only long enough to wet his fingers with his mouth, moaning at the taste of her, before returning to his ministrations with renewed passion, rocking against her with an eager need. 

 

Suddenly, she was coming hard, and all thought of stopping him fled as she surrendered to the pleasure cresting spectacularly inside her. She could not hold back the tide of ecstasy that overcame her as she cried out into the bedroom. He was fucking her harder, now, sinking his cock into her faster and more forcefully as she came hard around him. She wanted to tell him not to stop. It felt  _ so good _ . But then the tremors of her orgasm subsided and clarity returned with a sort of panicked shame, just as he rolled them over and withdrew from inside of her. 

 

“Get on your knees for me, love,” he said, one hand pulling her hip as the other reached to position himself behind her. 

 

Hermione was torn. Part of her felt she should just go through with it and tell him after, but she knew that was wrong. Before she had really decided what the best course would be, she had turned over to face him, cheeks flushing at the vision of her professor crouching over her, his throbbing cock in hand. More than anything, she wanted him to continue. 

 

He knew immediately. His eyes went wide and he sat back on his heels, ripping the sheets up to cover himself. He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Not  _ now _ ,” he hissed, frustration etched into the lines of his face. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I would have just… let it go on… I mean… I don’t mean to... deprive you when I’ve already…” 

 

His irritation melted into disbelief. “ _ What? _ ” he snapped. “Don’t be  _ stupid. _ This isn’t  _ your _ fault.” 

 

“I know, but I couldn’t help… I mean…  _ I _ , er, finished, so it’s only fair…” 

 

“ _ Fair? _ ” He snapped, staring down at her for a long moment as incredulity melted into horror. “It’s not a matter of  _ fair. _ You should never feel pressured…” He broke off, suspicion dawning in his dishevelled face. “Is that the way he’s taught you to feel about it?”

 

“W-what?” 

 

Fury burst to life behind his eyes. “ _ Weasley _ ,” he said slowly, watching her carefully. “He’s made you feel that you cannot withdraw consent. He’s taught you to think that you  _ owe  _ him something!  _ Ohhhh _ when I see that little…”

 

“No! No, it’s not like that! Please don’t do anything…”

 

“Listen to me, Hermione,” he said, his rage warring with sudden fear. “When you go back, just remember… you can  _ always _ say ‘no.’ You owe him  _ nothing. _ ”

 

“I  _ know _ that,” she argued. 

 

“Listen, Hermione,” he said, clearly not convinced. “This is important. I want you to understand. It is  _ not your fault _ if you don’t want to sleep with him. That is his problem. And it’s  _ not _ up to  _ you _ to solve that problem for him.” 

 

*****

 

_ Please Review!!! <3  _


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